


you can have the best of me (and I will give you anything)

by moxiemorton



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 66,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moxiemorton/pseuds/moxiemorton
Summary: A collection of bemily one-shots inspired by various prompts





	1. truth or dare

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “a bemily fanfic, where they're trying to hide their relationship from the bellas, but then they have to play truth or dare and after a time, the bellas find it out”

Beca was never a fan of drinking games. Well, _most_ drinking games. She was an absolute beast at beer pong and flip cup — something Chloe and Aubrey never stopped teasing her about in reference to her audition — but everything else was just a recipe for disaster in her eyes. A group of emotional, drunken, filter-less girls sharing their deepest most intimate secrets with each other?

Hard pass.

It’s not that Beca had a lot of secrets to hide. Of course, she’s not an open book like Stacie or Chloe, but she’s real and straightforward with a lot of things the Bellas ask her, much to their surprise. By the end of freshman year, everyone knew about her parents’ divorce. They knew about her interest in Jesse (though they kept it a secret from Aubrey). They knew a lot of her insecurities, like her height (which they laughed at), her intense fear of failure (which they did _not_ laugh at), and her reluctance to let herself feel some _emotions_ for a goddamn change. They even knew about her sex life.

Fat Amy had made a face and immediately taken back her interrogation during their game of Never Have I Ever. “This is really weird and kind of gross,” she’d said. “Like hearing about my grandpa’s sexual experiences.”

And since then, the Bellas backed off from asking her any kind of sex or romance-related questions, which Beca was insanely grateful for; it wasn’t long afterwards that she developed a disgustingly embarrassing crush on her co-captain. Thankfully, that was a short enough phase for her to truck through and forget about.

But then Emily Junk stumbles into her life and starts fucking up all of her feelings and sense of secrecy, and Beca feels like she’s in a constant state of panic. Emily is a fucking skyscraper and a half and looks at literally everything with a youthful and energetic spark in her eyes, and Beca falls _hard_ for her innocence and enthusiasm for life.

They share their first kiss the night before spring semester starts. They’re sipping wine alone in the house, the Bellas due back the next morning, and they talk about everything and anything while music plays softly from Cynthia Rose’s radio. Beca asks the question. Emily responds with a smile and a kiss. They fall asleep tangled together on the couch, fully clothed but with no blankets, neither of them willing to let go of the other long enough to grab a comforter from someone’s bedroom.

And Beca can’t believe a fucking ray of sunshine like Emily can stand to be around her depressing raincloud ass, but she knows better than to let someone like her slip through her fingers. She latches on tight — both literally and figuratively — to Emily, but she feels intense guilt about the one thing she can’t give the younger girl.

It takes a lot of self-encouraging pep-talks, but a few hours before the Bellas return to the house, Beca musters up enough courage to ask Emily, “Hey, would it be weird if we… like. Didn’t tell the Bellas about us?”

And Beca hadn’t exactly expected a deep sigh of relief, but she’s glad to hear that she isn’t about to let down the most perfect human being to smile down at her.

“Oh, thank heavens,” Emily says, laughing a little breathlessly, “I wasn’t sure how to tell you that I wasn’t ready, because you always seem so ready for everything and so confident with life. And I know it’s kind of stupid because the Bellas are supposed to be like sisters and everything, but the more I think about it, it’s super weird that I just kissed a sister and I can’t really see this as a sisterhood and I don’t think it’s normal to really —”

“Em. Breathe.”

Now the problem is keeping this from the nosy and inquisitive Bellas, and Beca should have known better than to agree to a last-first-day-of-the-semester party with all the girls because suddenly they’re being roped into a game of Truth or Dare and Chloe is shutting down all of her excuses and forcing Beca to sit in the circle with the rest of the Bellas. Emily takes a tentative seat across the circle from her, clearly unable to mask her feelings as well as Beca does.

“All right, DJ Mitchell. Truth or d —”

“Truth.”

“All right, then,” Fat Amy says, rubbing her hands together. “When was the last time you were in love?”

Beca trades a surprised glance with everyone in the circle, who all, to her relief, mirror her expression. “Shit, Ames. That’s a deep and sentimental question coming from you.”

“Well, I _was_ going to ask you how long it’s been since you did the nasty, but it wasn’t something I wanted to hear about tonight, so.”

“Thanks for that.”

“You betcha.”

“So, what’s your answer?” Chloe prompts, and Beca thanks every friggen deity known to man that this isn’t two years ago when she was head over heels for the ginger. That being said, she keeps her eyes carefully away from Emily’s vicinity and takes a deep breath.

“Like, two minutes ago. I guess.”

A chorus of gasps goes around the circle, and the Bellas are suddenly screaming at her to elaborate.

“Nuh uh. One question per round. Move along,” Beca says, still avoiding Emily’s gaze. If she thinks too much about what she answered and who’s staring at her with her mouth slightly open, she knows she’ll start to blush and give hints away. “Move _along_ ,” she insists, and the Bellas grumble to a stop.

“Fine. Then Emily,” Stacie says, turning sharply to the youngest Bella. “Truth or dare?”

“Uh. D-dare.”

And Beca can immediately tell that Stacie knows — about Emily, about Beca, about their kiss, about their secret — because Stacie just _knows_ everything. As if she read Beca’s mind, she glances in her direction before giving Emily the biggest smile.

“All right, Legacy. I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in this room.”

The Bellas all _ohhhh_ and sit up with excitement, eager to see whether the freshman will follow through with the dare, and Beca just rolls her eyes. She had learned over the years to not let these stupid truths and dares get to her. If she were given that dare, she would’ve simply kissed Stacie to simultaneously spite her, flatter her, and fluster her.

Beca might not like these kind of drinking games, but she sure the hell can learn to master them.

Emily, on the other hand, isn’t a seasoned veteran. Her face starts turning red at the word “kiss,” even before Stacie finishes the sentence, and before Beca can avert her gaze, Emily’s eyes lock onto hers. It lasts less than a second, but Stacie notices.

“Oh, got someone in mind?”

“I… u-uhhhh….um. N-nnn…uuhhh.”

 _God, this girl is as soft as melted butter_ , Beca thinks, watching Emily flounder about under Stacie’s knowing and piercing eyes. She swallows her own pounding heart, praying that no one can hear it, and braces herself for Emily to break and kiss her — _not_ that she thinks she’s the prettiest girl in the room, she just knows Emily’s too honest and pure to go for anyone else — scrambling to find some sort of aloof comment to play off the impending kiss.

When Emily stands and walks slowly towards her and the Bellas start _ohhhh_ -ing louder and taking out their phones to record, Beca doesn’t know what to expect. Is she going to just kiss Beca on the cheek? The lips? Is she going to make it a whole big thing and make her _stand_ too?

Emily does none of those things. She speeds up her pace barely halfway across the circle, grabs Beca’s hand, pulls her to her feet, and drags her out of the living room and out into the hallway, leaving the Bellas behind. Beca almost trips on her own feet as Emily pulls her down the hall, her long legs cutting a much wider stride than Beca’s. Then she’s opening a door, shoving Beca through, and squeezing herself in before shutting the door.

Beca has a nanosecond to take in the fact that this is their dark, cramped, chilly, slightly dusty costume closet before Emily is pressing her against the wall and gluing their lips together. It’s a brief kiss, barely more than a peck, but Beca is still left stunned by how amazing it feels.

“You _totally_ just gave us away,” she says teasingly, trying hard to play off the slight tremor in her voice. “God, Legacy. We didn’t even last a day.”

“Sorry,” Emily breathes against Beca’s lips, and she feels a violent shiver go down her back. “I know I should’ve ignored them or just passed the dare, but it just seemed…wrong. To not kiss the prettiest girl in the room. Especially after she publicly said that she was in love with me.” Emily breaks apart, looking genuinely worried and upset. “I…um. Yeah. God, I _suck_ at this whole secret relationship thing, don’t I? I’m so sorry Beca. A-are you…mad at me?” she asks in a small voice, and Beca feels like her heart is melting down to her stomach.

“Shit, how do you expect me to be mad at _you_?”

“I-I dunno, I mean you specifically asked me to keep this from the Bellas.”

“Yeah, but let’s be honest. Can we ever keep anything from them?”

Emily mumbles a quick, “Guess you’re right,” before leaning down again to press her lips, softly but firmly, to Beca’s. She traces her fingers up Beca’s jawline and down her neck, and the senior all but collapses on the floor. In retaliation, she locks a hand behind Emily’s head and glides the tip of her tongue along the taller girl’s bottom lip, drawing a muffled gasp and an unmistakable squeak.

“Is this turning into Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Beca mumbles with a smile, and the freshman is suddenly jumping away.

“Oh, my stars, you’re right. I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

“Hey, I mean, I don’t mind.” Beca scoffs and gestures towards the living room. “I’m not exactly looking forward to facing their catcalls and invasive questions. And in any case,” she says, hooking a finger in the blushing freshman’s belt loop and pulling her closer, “this is a _much_ better game than Truth or Dare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> distract me at work: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	2. soulmate AU: stain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bemily soulmate au: you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do and so beca has a fist/hand shape on her face and everyone thinks it's cause she got punched by her soulmate but in reality, emily was gesturing wildly and her hand accidentally caught beca's face because beca was looking down at her phone while having her headphones in

 

Beca’s been a tomboy at heart from the moment she was born. The first thing her parents saw was the Mark  **—** black and menacing  **—** covering half of their tiny new daughter’s face, and they instantly knew that she was a tough one. She’s gonna be hit in the face by her soulmate? Then she’s gotta be a fighter.

Growing up, she was jealous of other people’s Marks. Some were small, like the mark of a finger or two tapping against a shoulder. Others were huge, covering a whole arm of the entire back, a spot where someone will probably accidentally bump into. Wherever they were or whatever their size, nobody had as conspicuous a Mark as Beca Mitchell.

After enduring relentless teasing her first day of kindergarten, her parents take pity and buy her some makeup, which she immediately uses to cover her Mark. For the rest of her elementary school days, she refuses to leave the house without covering the Mark, and never reveals where it is. Other kids are always showing off their Mark, and it was common practice to shyly ask crushes to touch it to see what happens.

Beca thinks it’s stupid and desperate. _It’s inevitable, so why bother trying to rush the process? Literally ruining the whole point of this Mark thing, if you ask me._

Truth be told, she’s scared. However romantic or accidental it may be, the first touch she’s going to share with this unknown soulmate person is on her face. She becomes guarded, both physically and emotionally, always a little too prepared to dodge a blow to the face — as if that would happen on a daily basis. If anyone comes too close to her face, she immediately tenses and retreats. She has, on one occasion, instinctively slapped away her Aunt Merriam’s hand as it rose to pinch Beca’s cheek.

“It could be anything, honey,” her mom always insists.

Always a romantic, her father chips in, “Yeah, it could be a… a gentle caress of the cheek. Or… or! Maybe someone accidentally nudges you with their shoulder in a crowd.”

But after years of glaring at it in a mirror, Beca knows for a fact that the Mark is in the distinct shape of a fist. It was easy for her parents to console her; both of their Marks were on their hands, and it activated on their very first date when they held hands.

“The _colors_. Oh, Bec, the  _colors_ were amazing. I swear, our hands lit up the entire concert hall like fireworks,” her dad always swore. Beca’s heard the story a million times, and she’s grown tired of rolling her eyes. She knows it’s an exaggeration; she’s seen a Reveal before, and it’s much more anticlimactic than a brilliant laser show of color. The black Marks simply turn into a million different colors, no lights, no flashing, and _definitely_  no fireworks. But Beca has to admit that it looks cool, like a vamped up version of watercolor tattoos, and she’s seen a few people add a few actual tattoos over their Revealed Marks with significant quotes or graphics related to their soulmate.

They were cool, and she’s always wanted to do something like that. But she’d be a little more grateful if the Mark wasn’t on her goddamn face.

Then her parents divorce and the Mark feels more like a curse than a blessing.

Beca goes through high school as the stereotypical Moody Teen, tired and annoyed by the constant talk about Marks and resorting to blocking everything out with music and a bad attitude. She surrounds herself with boys who feel the same way, and ironically enough, they’re the ones who make her realize that she could swing both ways.

“So you could be punched by a  _girl_?” her friend Jesse, one of the few people in the world who knows about her Mark, laughs when she comes out to him. “Honestly, Becs. Your Reveal is the only one I’m actually excited for.”

She goes off to college, sarcastically promising Jesse that she’ll record her Reveal for him. When she tells him about joining the Bellas, he thinks it’s the funniest thing ever.

 **Jesse:** _An_ all-girls _singing group?_

 **Jesse:** _U sure u swing_ both  _ways?_

 **Beca:**   _Shut up, nerd._

 **Jesse:**   _Did you ask all of them to punch you in the face?_

 **Beca:**   _Wtf no_

 **Jesse:**   _Its the quickest way just have them line up and take turns punching u_

And even though she ignores Jesse’s stupidity, that’s exactly what the Bellas decide to do one night towards the end of her freshman year. They had just won the ICCA Championship, and the Bellas were drinking in Ashley and Jessica’s dorm when they decide to share their Marks.

“On your _face_?” Chloe exclaims when Beca reluctantly tells them.

“Yup,” she replies, popping the ‘p’ and resting her right fist against her cheek. “Right here.”

“Daaaaang,” Cynthia Rose says, examining Beca’s face from different angles. “That’s some  _good_  makeup.”

Chloe slides up to Beca, casually popping her personal bubble, and smiles crookedly in that tipsy way of hers. “Can I try?” she asks, and Beca freezes in place. No one’s really asked her so directly before, and suddenly, she has her doubts.

“U-uh. Sure,” she says, despite her nervousness.

Her heart is practically bursting out her chest as Chloe gently touches her fist to Beca’s cheek. She doesn’t dare open her eyes until the feeling of Chloe’s knuckles leave her skin.

“How the hell would we know it worked?” Cynthia Rose says. Beca picks and rubs at a part of the makeup until a small portion of the Mark slowly shows up. It’s still black.

“Let’s all try,” Fat Amy suggests, and they all line up excitedly to follow Chloe’s example.

“Okay, but why just me? Stacie has hers on her ass and this is more interesting to you guys?”

“Hey, I don’t know about you guys, but I want to see a fuckin’ rainbow on Mitchell’s face,” Stacie says, and they all mumble in agreement. Most of them just lightly touch their fists to Beca’s cheek. Fat Amy bumps it a little harder than necessary, Stacie kisses it instead, and Aubrey flat-out punches her.

“The  _fuck_ , Posen?” Beca exclaims, rubbing her face.

“Sorry, sorry. Just needed to get that out of my system before graduating.”

And despite the rage — rage she acts on by knocking Aubrey backwards onto Jessica’s bed and getting into a half-hearted fist fight — she feels inside, Beca has to admit that Aubrey’s punch is probably the closest thing she has to prepare for her actual Reveal. She hopes she doesn’t react with uncontrollable anger like she does with Aubrey.

But the next few years fly by without any Mark-related incidents. They lose Aubrey but gain Flo. They win their third championship but publicly humiliate themselves several months later. They gain one freshman Bella the year they’re due to all graduate. Beca gets an internship but feels too under-qualified to even get out of bed in the morning. There are too many ups and downs going on, and she barely has time to consider Marks and Reveals and soulmates.

So the last place Beca expects her Reveal to happen is at a Bella’s practice.

“Beca! Get over here!” Chloe calls to her from across the room. As usual, Beca is leaning against the piano, fiddling around on her laptop and switching from working on a demo for her internship and the Bella’s setlist. She reluctantly closes the laptop and grabs her phone instead, joining the rest of the Bellas as they prepare for either a dance or cardio session with Chloe at the helm. Emily, who practically towers over Beca like a friggen tree, is bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

“Are we finally gonna start singing?” she asks Beca, and the shorter girl just keeps her eyes fixed on her phone and shuffles her feet guiltily in response.

“Emily!” Chloe calls, and the freshman snaps to attention. “You said you and your mom used to practice some old Bella moves together, right?” the ginger asks, eyes sparkling. “You think you can show us something new?”

“S-something new?” Emily stutters, suddenly looking nervous under the attention. “Uh. Well, I don’t know how  _new_  it can be, since my mom is like, a gajillion years old. But there’s this one move where you step forward like this and move your hips this way, all the while moving your hands  like —”

And Emily’s barely taken a step before she’s tripping over her own feet and stumbling sideways. Her arms flail out helplessly, and Beca is too focused on her phone realize what’s happening until it’s too late. She looks up just in time to see Emily’s fist flying towards her face, and it hits her so hard that a line of spit flies from her mouth. The senior falls to the ground from the force of the impact, caught completely off guard and dazed from pain.

“Holy shit!”

“Beca! Are you okay?”

“Oh, my stars. I’m so sorry, Beca.”

Voices and faces crowd her vision as she opens her eyes against the throbbing pain. Stacie extends a hand and she’s pulled to her feet, staggering slightly. “Jesus,” Beca whispers, clutching onto Stacie’s arm to steady herself, “you got a hell of a punch, Legacy.”

And her eyes snap onto Emily’s hand.

And she almost collapses back on the ground.

Emily follows her gaze and lets out a gasp that has all the Bellas turning their heads. The black Mark that had covered the back of Emily’s fingers is slowly but surely changing colors, and like a cloudy sky clearing to reveal a sunny sky, a beautiful array of colors starts to spread from the center of the Mark. They all watch, transfixed, as all trace of black disappears from Emily’s hand.

“What…the fuck?” Beca looks up and meets Emily’s shocked gaze.

“I…uh.” The freshman swallows audibly. “M-may I?” she asks, pointing to Beca’s cheek. She takes a tentative step forward when Beca doesn’t respond. Then, with all the Bellas watching, Emily reaches towards the cheek she’d just smacked and rubs at the makeup there. Her fingers work firmly but with careful patience, and Beca can’t bring herself to move. She knows what’s hiding under the makeup; she can feel the pulsating warmth of the Mark, and it’s not because from pain.

As soon as a small streak of the Mark becomes visible, the Bellas erupt into screams and start jumping excitedly, hugging Beca and Emily and each other, completely oblivious to the fact that the two of them are standing stock still, Emily’s hand still on Beca’s face.

“Uh. Um,” Emily finally chokes out. “S-sorry. About punching you.”

“Right. Well it was for a good cause.”

Emily’s face breaks into a smile before she bursts out laughing, and Beca feels her heart swell ten times its size. Caught up in her own shit, Beca had never realized just how beautiful Emily is; just the sound of her laugh and the brightness of her smile are enough to have her blushing furiously.

And she feels her defenses slowly crumbling down, the guarded protectiveness of her face and the general anxiety that had surrounded her Reveal melting away like the inky blackness of their Marks.  _Should’ve known it’d be someone as clumsy as Emily,_  she thinks, and she lets the taller girl pull her into a tight hug as the Bellas whoop and cheer behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> distract me at work: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	3. morning cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: something along the lines of lazy mornings in bed (it involves cuddling) or the "you're freezing, come here" one

Emily slips out of bed at the crack of dawn and sneaks downstairs.

Despite it only being November, the weather forecast had predicted monumental snowfall in Georgia for today, and Barden had cancelled classes even before the snow had started. Excited about the unexpected snow in such a warm state, Emily had sped over to the Bella house as soon as she’d heard, eager to spend a snow day with her favorite seniors.

Or… a particular senior.

The snow had started late last night, and Emily knows that the muted brightness coming from the windows — despite the early hour — can only mean that the entire world is covered in a soft, reflective white. She races downstairs as quietly as she can so she can watch the snow falling from the living room window.

But she’s not alone. When she tiptoes into the living room, there are already three figures sitting on the couch and staring out at the snow. Chloe has her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug. Jessica and Ashley are huddled up on the couch under a blanket, similarly steaming mugs left cooling on the table behind them. They all look up when Emily gives a quiet greeting.

“Hey,” Chloe says. “Want some hot chocolate?”

“Oh. Sure, yeah.”

She hadn’t been expecting such a gathering, but it’s a nice surprise. Jessica and Ashley shift over and motion for Emily to sit between them. “How long have you guys been up?” she asks as Jessica throws the blanket back on over the three of them.

“Less than an hour, I think,” Ashley says.

“Chloe was up before us,” Jessica adds. “We were joking that she never went to sleep.”

Emily laughs. “I thought I was the only one who’d be this excited.”

“We’ve never had snow like this,” Chloe says, emerging from the kitchen and handing a mug to Emily. “Not in all the years I’ve been here.”

They all turn back to the window and watch the falling snow. Snow isn’t new at all to Emily, but she’d never thought she’d have a snow day when she applied to a school in Atlanta. She wishes they can turn on the fireplace and complete the picture, but after an incident their sophomore year involving a burnt couch cushion and several second-degree burns, the Bellas had been weary of any type of open flame. _This is more than enough_ , Emily thinks, drawing warmth from Ashley and Jessica while sipping her hot chocolate.

“I’m gonna have to ruin the moment,” Chloe says after a long and peaceful silence. “But I need to grab something from school before noon so I can finish up a project.”

“Shoveling?” Ashley asks.

“Shoveling,” Chloe confirms.

Their shed only has two snow shovels, one of them partially broken, so they decide to take turns shoveling the driveway. The snow isn’t too deep, but it had mixed poorly with the humidity in the air and created a slushy mess. Chloe and Emily take the first shoveling shift while Jessica and Ashley clear the snow off of everyone’s cars.

By the time they switch shifts, all four of them are freezing in their damp shoes and thin jackets. Chloe’s hands and cheeks are as red as her hair, and Jessica’s shaking so hard that every gust of wind almost knocks her off her feet. They finish up as quickly as they can and trudge back into the house, cold and no longer infatuated by the snow.

“Thanks, guys,” Chloe says warmly, her smile bright enough to thaw all the snow that gathered on their shoulders. “I’ll bring back some breakfast for everyone. My treat.”

“We’ll go make some coffee, then,” Jessica suggests.

“I’m…gonna go back to bed for a bit,” Emily sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Just call m… us down when you’re home?”

Chloe brushes some snow out of Emily’s hair. “Hmm okay. Give her a kiss from me, will you?” she says with a wink, and Emily feels her face grow hot. Ignoring Ashley and Jessica’s teasing smiles, she dashes upstairs, her wet socks leaving a faint trail on the wood floor.

When she returns to Beca’s room, the smaller girl is still curled up in her bed. She stirs a little at the sound of Emily’s footsteps, squinting through the dark to see who the intruder is. “Morning,” Emily whispers, tugging off her sweater.

Beca only groans in response.

“You don’t want to see the snow?”

Another groan.

Emily smiles and changes out of her soaked sweatpants into pajama shorts. Beca peeks out from the mountain of blankets and rolls over to make room. “Where’d you go?” she croaks out while Emily shuffles into bed next to her. “You disappeared.”

“Shoveling the driveway. Chloe needed to drive to school.”

“Stubborn bitch,” Beca mutters before her eyes snap open. “Holy shit, you’re freezing.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Emily apologizes, shying away from Beca’s furnace of a body. “None of us really had winter jackets or gloves, so we all kind of froze a little out there.”

The older girl scoffs. “ _All_ of you are stubborn bitches. Get over here, Legs.” She tugs sleepily at Emily’s shirt, drawing her closer. Emily can tell that Beca is bracing herself and holding her breath as she tangles their bare legs together, the icy cold of Emily’s skin practically steaming against Beca’s warmth. It feels _amazing_ and Emily feels like she’s literally melting in Beca’s arms. The smaller girl buries her face into Emily’s shoulder, slowly letting out the breath she’d been holding in. “Fuck, you’re cold.”

“Sorry,” Emily says again, before smiling mischievously to herself. “Sorry for this, too.”

And she sticks her freezing hands under Beca’s shirt and presses them against her bare back. Emily feels Beca’s mouth pop open against her shoulder before she lets out a wordless scream, flinching violently and trying to escape the ice blocks.

“Shhhhhh _it_ !” she hisses, arching her back and pushing at Emily’s shoulders. “ _Not_ cool, Em!”

“Oh, I dunno, Becs,” she teases, flipping her hands so that her knuckles are now against Beca’s skin, drawing another scream and flinch from the senior, “I’d say it’s pretty _cool_ , wouldn’t you?”

Despite Emily’s frigid hands, Beca pauses comically at the pun and shoots a mildly disgusted but unmistakably amused smirk at the younger girl. “Fuck you,” she says endearingly.

“That’s funny,” Emily mutters, nuzzling into the crook of Beca’s neck and brushing her cold nose against it, “I seem to recall you asking for the opposite last night.”

Satisfied that she had stunned the senior into silence, she leans in and places a soft but long kiss at the base of Beca’s throat, feeling her pulse accelerate against her mouth. Pulling the tiny girl closer, Emily trails her lips up the length of her neck, drawing out goosebumps and near-silent moans. When she reaches the weak spot behind Beca’s ear, the senior snaps out of her trance and leans away from Emily.

“ _Dude_ ,” she whispers breathlessly, face bright red. “Where did all _this_ come from?”

Emily considers her response for a second. “Retaliation?”

“For _what?_ You’re the one who stuck ice cubes on my back.”

“You called Chloe a stubborn bitch.”

“Oh, my god,” Beca says, unable to restrain a smile. “Not even for calling _you_ that?”

“It’s a greater offense when it’s towards Chloe,” Emily shrugs.

“You…” Beca pauses, eyes searching Emily’s face for an insult appropriate for such a delightful dork. “…fucking puppy.”

With a huge smile, Emily lets out a small bark and licks Beca’s nose, making the older girl grimace and rub away the saliva. “Well, this puppy wants a little more sleep before breakfast, so…”

“I’m not liking this roleplay, so yeah. Sleep sounds good.”

Beca snuggles into Emily — who’s now warm enough to be held without secondhand frostbite — and rests her head against the freshman’s chest. Her heartbeat is strong and steady against Beca’s ear, and the two drift off back to sleep, toasty and warm under the blankets as snow falls silently outside the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> distract me at work: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	4. fate/destiny AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "bemily fanfic where destiny or fate continuously bring them together. It keeps happening so much, that one asks the other if they are stalking them."
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: this took a while to get to and I apologize. Also sorry because this is actually a cool prompt but I had nO idea how to approach it because, like with the soulmate au for bemily week, I struggle with fate/destiny stuff and worldbuilding. But here’s like...a shot at it??

Even though Beca is not the most observant human being on the planet, she’s the first to notice. Their paths cross three times before she has the courage to say something, and even then, it takes a fourth encounter for a proper introduction. 

* * *

The first instance she can recall is high school. Her family was in a weird place back then, with her parents getting a divorce and her dad moving abruptly out of the house, and the last thing Beca wants to do is make friends. So she listened to her music, made mixes on her laptop, and shut the world out with her over-the-top studio headphones. Talking to people became such a chore that she stopped altogether, opening her mouth only when absolutely necessary.

So she doesn’t even know how this all begins. 

She’d been working at a secondhand record and CD shop tucked away in the corner of the mall, desperately saving up for a one-way ticket to L.A. so she could start chasing her dream of becoming a music producer. Beca hated working at the shop, but they paid well and always needed her for shifts. 

Notoriously terrible at remembering names and faces, Beca wouldn’t have been able to pick out the regulars from the newcomers. Someone could hand her a rewards card with her initials stamped over the box, but she would have no memory of ever ringing up that person. 

When a leggy brunette wanders in one day, accompanied by a stern-looking blonde, Beca should have absolutely no reaction. 

Except that she does.

_ I’ve seen her somewhere before _ , is her first thought while looking at the brunette.  _ Where the fuck have I seen her before _ , is her second thought. Beca watches as the two circle the store at a leisurely pace, chatting casually and flipping idly through the boxes upon boxes of records and CDs. 

There’s nothing special about the brunette as far as she can see. Her hair is in a ponytail and she has on a cropped band T-shirt and high-waisted jeans tucked into combat boots. She’s basically 70% leg and 80% smiles, and Beca can’t tell if the girl is more like a model or a kid. She giggles at something the blonde says, nose crinkling, and Beca’s heart leaps into her throat. 

_ How do I know this chick? _ The question buzzes in her head like an annoying fly. 

“Can I help you with anything?” she calls to the pair.

God, what the hell? She  _ never  _ offers  _ anyone _ help. 

“We’re just looking, thanks!” The brunette calls back, shooting a quick smile at Beca from across the store. 

_ Fuck. She’s adorable. And hot. But mostly adorable. Oh, fuck.  _

The familiar girl and the blonde leave the store without buying anything and Beca misses her chance to talk to her or even ask her if they’ve met before. For once in her life, she feels a bit sad that she didn’t get to interact with a customer. But she pushes the thought aside and forgets about it. 

Just someone she thought was cute that one time.

Just another face in the crowd. 

* * *

The second time is at college.

Reluctantly thankful that her dad forced her through college, Beca sits in the school cafe towards the end of her senior year, soon to graduate with a degree in music. With a solid job as a music producer lined up for her in New York straight out of graduation, she feels secure and satisfied as she sips at her scalding coffee. 

And she almost spits it back out. 

She watches, jaw on the floor, as the leggy brunette from the record store all those years ago enters the cafe and orders a drink. Beca barely holds herself back from slapping at or pinching her cheeks. 

_ Holy crap _ . She can’t believe her eyes. The  _ same _ girl. The same _ friggen _ girl, sitting down at a table right across the cafe. Her legs are still a mile long. Her shirt is still way too short for her torso. And her smile is still as blinding. 

There’s a lanyard sticking out of the girl’s pocket, and Beca sees the distinct Barden colors and logo on the strap.  _ She goes here? For how long? Damnit, she's still cute as fuck. Okay. Calm your tits, Mitchell.  _

_ Who the effing hell is  _ — _?  _

“Hey!” The girl is suddenly obscured by Jesse’s face, and Beca flinches back. “Sorry, sorry.” He says, stuffing a folder into his bag. “The meeting ran super late and I couldn’t get out of it. Were you waiting long?” 

“N-no.” Beca blinks out of her daze and focuses on Jesse. “It’s cool, I just thought I…” She leans around him to look at the girl. 

She’s gone.

Jesse follows Beca’s gaze to the empty table before turning back to her. “You okay, Becs? You look like you’d seen a —”

“Yeah, basically,” she mutters. “God, I need a drink.” 

“You read my mind,” Jesse agrees. 

* * *

The third time is in L.A.

Established music producer with a few Grammy-nominated artists as clients, Beca Mitchell steps off an airplane at LAX with a baseball cap and large sunglasses to cover her face. She doesn’t exactly have rabid fans or relentless paparazzi following her, but she’s not in the mood for pictures or autographs today; her disguise is definitely over-the-top for someone unknown as her, but she’d rather not risk it. She’d flown in from New York at six in the god-fricken morning to meet a new client at the L.A. office, and everything about this unnecessary trip pisses her off. 

The cheap airport coffee.

The neck pain from sleeping weird on the plane.

The dry, non-New-York bagels. 

The laughing children, enjoying a vacation. 

She throws herself down on a poorly-cushioned bench and waits for a text from Theo—her less-than-helpful supervisor— telling her that a car from the studio is at the pickup line outside the airport. 

Tired and cranky, Beca lifts her eyes from her blank phone screen and scans the crowd. 

And  _ holy shit _ it’s that leggy brunette from the record shop and from Barden.  _ Again _ . 

Still leggy. Still brunette. Still cute as fuck. 

But infinitely more suspicious. There’s  _ no way _ it’s a coincidence. 

And it can’t just be another fan, trying to discreetly follow Beca and ask for an autograph — or maybe something less G-rated — because she’s seen this girl _everywhere_ since high school, for Christ’s sake. 

_ Who the hell is she? _

_ What the hell does she think she’s doing? _

Pretty creeped out but also not thrilled about being followed, Beca puffs out her chest and strides over to the girl. She is an  _ adult _ , goddamnit. If she can pay her own taxes and buy her own groceries, she can at the very least confront this attractive but undeniable stalker.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Theo, but she ignores it and keeps marching forward. 

The girl is looking idly through a magazine when Beca approaches, so she doesn’t notice her until Beca speaks up.

“Hey,” she says, crossing her arms and trying to look annoyed. But up close, this girl is like, a million times taller than her and super pretty and kind of intimidating, so she knows she just looks like petulant child. The girl looks up, surprised, at Beca’s greeting. “Are you stalking me?” 

Beca feels like an idiot as soon as the question leaves her mouth. She feels even more idiotic when the girl just smiles with confusion. “No? No, not at all.” 

And it seems like she doesn’t recognize Beca, either as a repetitive appearance in her life or as a semi-famous music producer, so she mutters, “Sorry, wrong person,” pathetically and hightails it out of the airport and into the waiting car. 

* * *

Beca rushes into the studio, still somewhat embarrassed from her airport encounter, and goes straight to her temporary desk by the window. She ignores a call from Theo’s office down the hall — undoubtedly asking if she got to the studio safe instead of walking twenty feet to check in person — and impatiently waits for the appointment with her new client.

_ This fuckin’ diva better not have wasted my time and effort getting here _ . 

It’s stupid of her to be so annoyed, especially while working her dream job. For hell’s sake, she’s in  _ L.A. _ of all places. Beca had  _ always _ wanted to produce music here and work with actual musicians, so she should have no qualms about being flown out west every other month or so. Maybe it’s just the travel time. 

But then again, this meeting is for a small-time pop singer with only a handful of hits, barely considered a blip on the radar, and Beca has more important things she should be addressing back in New York. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to see Theo. Or maybe she still feels off from that awkward accusation she threw at a stranger in the airport. 

Thinking about it makes Beca want to crawl in a hole and die, so she shoves it out of her mind.  _ Focus. You have a meeting. No matter how much of a nobody this client is, you gotta make them a somebody by vamping up their shit. Now focus! _

“Uh… Beca?”

Theo is waving a hand in front of her face, and Beca snaps back to reality and instinctively smacks his hand away. 

“Shit, sorry,” she says as he winces in pain. There are several people standing behind Theo, and Beca shoots out of her seat, embarrassed beyond belief. “Oh, holy sh — hi! So sorry, I was just…well, anyway.” She fixes Theo in a hard stare, nonverbally requesting for him to introduce everyone to her. 

“Beca, this is James Thompson from EG Records. And Liz Goldberg, publicist from Six-Six PR. And Pattie Green, also from EG.” 

Beca shakes each of their hands at Theo’s introduction, forgetting the names almost immediately after she moves onto the next handshake. Theo should know better than to introduce her to more than two people at a time; by the time she turns to the fourth, she’s resigned herself to not remembering anyone for the rest of the day.

Theo motions for the fourth person to step forward from the back. And Beca stops breathing. 

“And this is Emily Junk, EG’s newest artist. Everyone, this is Beca Mitchell, one of the —”

“— the youngest music producers in the country,” Emily finishes breathlessly, sticking out her hand. “It’s a huge honor to meet you, Ms. Mitchell. I’ve like,  _ dreamed _ of this moment since agencies started reaching out to me, and oh, my  _ stars _ , I can’t believe I actually get to meet  _ the _ Beca Mitchell, the one and only producer who worked with —”

She rambles on and Beca stares, just  _ stares _ at this girl, standing up close and gushing about her like she’s some legendary musical icon or something, as if she just hadn’t been stalking Beca for the past ten years. But there’s no indication that Emily really recognizes her outside of the music industry, so it kind of feels to Beca like the whole situation is some sleep-deprivation-induced fever dream.

_ Is this the same girl? Am I just crazy? Do I just see her face everywhere now?  _

_Who the_ holy _hell_ _is this girl?_

She numbly reaches for Emily’s hand when she ends her biography of Beca’s accomplishments. “J-just Beca’s fine,” she says. She hopes to god her hand isn’t shaking in Emily’s. A rushed, “You were at the airport,” blurts out of her before she can stop it. 

Emily gives her the same confused smile as before. “I was? I mean, yeah, I was. I came here from LAX.” She gives a nervous glance towards the EG reps and her publicist, but they all look as bamboozled by Beca’s statement as she does. “But I don’t…oh! Wait! You’re the one who called me a stalker!”

All eyes turn to her, clearly judgemental, and Beca feels heat rush to her cheeks.  

She clears her throat. “Uh. Well, I…think I’ve seen you around. A lot. All over the place. So I just assumed…”

“You have?” Emily asks, confused.  

“You went to Barden.” 

Emily’s expression clears. “Oh, yeah!” she says, reaching into her pocket and taking out the Barden lanyard. “Still a student, technically. Graduating this year. You went there too?” 

“Class of ‘14.” 

Theo looks between them, clearly more confused than either of them. “So you two…know each other?”

Beca is quick to say, “no,” but Emily tilts her head, regarding Beca with more thought. 

“No,” she agrees, “but I feel like I do.” 

“Well, anyway,” Beca says, laughing nervously. “We should really settle down and start the meet —”

“Oh!” Emily suddenly exclaims. “You worked at that record shop in Springfield Mall, didn’t you?” 

Beca’s mouth drops. “Y-yeah. But you only came in there  _ once _ and you remember my face?”

She gives Beca a look. “I’ve gone a few times, actually. Me and my friend Aubrey referred to you as ‘the cashier who never looked up’ because you literally only talked to us once.” 

_ Holy shit. What the hell was wrong with you, Beca? _

“Holy crap.” 

Emily nods in agreement. “This is pretty cool. Like some kind of fate or destiny kind of thing. Have we met anywhere else?” 

And Beca knows she should just deflect and end the conversation, just lead them into the conference room and discuss whatever the hell this Emily artist wants to do with her music, but the words get stuck in her throat. Because she also wants to know. She wants to know  _ badly _ . That old feeling of  _ I know this girl from somewhere _ that she first had in the record shop comes crashing back, and Beca wants to get to the bottom of this. 

She trades a glance with Theo before turning to the EG reps. “So, like. This isn’t the usual way we do this, but would you guys mind just chilling here and working out contracts with Theo? Since Emily’s my new client, I feel like we should… uh. Get to know each other. Or something.” Beca risks a look at Emily, who’s smiling so big that it almost infects Beca with the same amount of happiness. 

Almost. 

“We’ll be back in thirty. Tops.” She shoots Theo a quick thumbs-up and mouths a  _ thank you _ before ushering Emily towards the elevators. The young popstar is confused but compliant, letting Beca lead her away from the rest of the crowd, only uttering a quiet, “oh, okay.”

Still adorable. Still hot. 

Beca shakes her head as she jams the button for the elevator.  _ Oh, my god. What the hell are you doing? Are you really taking this girl out on a date? In the middle of your first meeting with her and her reps? What the hell, Beca? _

“Do you ever have this weird gut feeling about someone?” Emily asks abruptly, watching the elevator steadily climb to their floor. “Like, you see someone from a distance and think, ‘I think this person will be important later on in my life’? Like they’re…I dunno, connected to you somehow?” 

“Sounds like some soulmate bullshit that my mom likes to read about,” Beca scoffs, and immediately regrets it because like, seriously? Totally uncalled for.

“I guess that could be it,” Emily considers, shrugging Beca’s rudeness off. “But it’s more…hmm. Kind of like…” she trails off, catches Beca looking at her with a raised eyebrow, and laughs. “Sorry, I don’t really know how to put it into words. But…you get it, right?”

She does.    

But she doesn’t really want to admit it just yet. 

“We’ll see,” is what Beca says instead. “After we line up every location, event, and school we’ve been at.  _ Then _ . Maybe.” She smiles. “Then we’ll see.” 

“But we only have thirty minutes,” Emily says, frowning. The elevator arrives with a  _ ding! _ and she flinches a little from the sound. 

“Well, considering  _ you _ are the VIP here today, I’m sure we can stretch out that time a little,” Beca teases, and the smile Emily gives her as they board the elevator lights up her entire world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> catch me at http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	5. bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beca gets sick of Fat Amy being mean to Emily for no reason and tells her off. Emily overhears and begins to suspect Beca has feelings for her

Emily’s having a supremely crappy day. 

It started off with a missed alarm, which is never a good beginning to a Monday, and Emily had shown up fifteen minutes late to class without showering or eating breakfast. Then there was a pop quiz at the end of the class about the discussions they had, and since Emily missed the first chunk, she couldn’t answer half the questions. 

At the cafeteria, someone accidentally bumps into her table and sends her water spilling everywhere, including all over her shirt. So she trekked all the way back to her dorm to change. She stopped by the cafe before her second class to grab a latte, but they got her order wrong and the line was too long for her to get back on and ask for the right one. 

It turned out that she forgot a homework assignment for her second class, so she doesn’t know why she even bothered getting out of bed this morning.

By the time Emily arrives at Bellas practice, there’s a heavy rain cloud above her head; all she wants is for this day to end so she can crawl back to her room and sleep everything off. She follows mindlessly along with the warm-ups and drills, already mentally checked out for the day. 

Beca’s talking about the arrangement she’s working on and the types of dance moves that Chloe is coordinating with it and Flo is asking something about the props, but Emily almost completely zones out. All she can think about now, even as they dive into choreo and formations for the newest set, is how soft her bed is going to feel and how good that Easy Mac is going to taste and how she can finally shower and —

“Emily!”

She snaps back to attention to see that she’s two inches away from crashing straight into Stacie, and Emily flinches backwards abruptly enough to lose her footing. She would’ve fallen right on her butt if Stacie hadn’t caught her by the elbow. 

“Don’t go falling for me, cutie,” she says with a smirk, winking at Emily before letting go. 

“Eyes forward, girls,” Chloe calls, “I know it’s weird because we’re moving from side to side, but at least for practice, look straight ahead so we don’t bump into each other, ‘kay?”

Blushing bright from Chloe’s warning, Stacie’s flirtatious comment, and her careless blunder, Emily nods furiously and trudges back to her mark.  _ God, this day needs to endddddd _ .

“Yeah, Legacy,” Fat Amy points out, “we get it might be hard for you to get your head out of the clouds, what with your giraffe neck and all, but some of us are trying to practice.” 

It’s the last straw for Emily, she knows it because she feels her chest tightening and her shoulders tensing, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to snap back at Fat Amy and give her a piece of her mind. Emily knows, deep within her now-constricted heart, that if she even opens her mouth, she’ll burst out crying before she gets a word out. So she keeps her eyes fixed on the floor and bites down hard on her lip. 

And Emily knows (or hopes) that Fat Amy’s just teasing her because she’s the newbie freshman, and her dad had always told her that she’s easy to pick on because she takes everything to heart and doesn’t fight  back. He never meant it in a mean way, but there was honesty and warning in his tone whenever he said it.

Emily’s had an absolutely shitty day, and she definitely takes it to heart. 

For the rest of practice, she doesn’t look up from the ground. She knows it’s an exaggerated reaction to have over such a small and meaningless comment, and the Bellas are probably wondering why she’s acting so butthurt when Fat Amy had given insults much worse than that before, and it’s not like she  _ wants _ to keep her eyes downcast, especially after Chloe had warned them — or rather,  _ her _ — to keep their eyes forward. But Emily knows that if she looks up and makes eye contact with  _ anyone _ for more than a second, she won’t be able to hold back the tears.

She just  _ needs _ the day to end, like,  _ now _ . 

When Beca finally wraps up practice, Emily scrambles all of her possessions together and practically runs out of the room. She thinks she hears someone call her name, but her mind is literally chanting  _ nope, nope, nope, nope _ over and over again, loudly enough for her to pass it off as nothing. She’s out the door before anyone even has a chance to say bye to her.  

It takes her less than thirty seconds to regret her rudeness and stop dead in her tracks. It wasn’t fair for her to treat the Bellas so coldly when they weren’t the blame for her terrible day; thinking it out rationally, Emily knows that Amy was just being Amy and that it wasn’t the senior’s fault that Emily had cumulatively terrible luck today. 

_I should go apologize. Should I go apologize? Would that be weird? That’d probably be weird._ _But that was super rude, I should go back and apologize. Or…wait, should I be asking for an apology instead? I guess I was rude, but Fat Amy was kinda mean too..._

Emily was never one to stand up to bullies, and facing down a bunch of super pretty, super talented, super cool girls isn’t the ideal place to start. She knows they’re not as intimidating as they seem, but there’s a kind of unifying aura around all of them that clearly says, “mess with one of us and you mess with all of us.” And that shouldn’t scare Emily because she  _ is _ one of them now, but the last thing she wants after today is to have everyone stand behind Fat Amy and make her feel even worse.  __

At least she’s taller than most of them.

While her mind deliberates the weirdness and appropriateness of giving and receiving an apology, her feet are already carrying her back to the practice room, and before she knows it, Emily’s standing outside of the room. Somewhere in the distance, she hears snatches of conversations steadily moving away, and Chloe’s distinct laugh floats down the hallway. 

Emily pauses, wondering if she’d missed her chance, but then she hears voices from the practice room, and she can distinctly make out Fat Amy’s accented cadence.  _ Okay, Emily,  _ she tells herself.  _ You’re gonna go in there, and you’re gonna… gonna…  _

_ What’re you doing, Emily?  _

“Apologize,” she tell herself firmly. “And then maybe ask for an apology.”

It’s wishy-washy and she doesn’t exactly like the prospect of either, but she  _ knows  _ she’ll lose sleep over this stupid situation if she doesn’t at least try to diffuse the tension she caused. With a deep breath, Emily approaches the door, a determined expression pasted on. 

Then she freezes, one foot still in the air, when she hears Beca’s voice. 

“Hey, what’s your deal?” 

And for one wild second she thinks Beca’s talking to her, even though she’s still three feet away from the door and clearly out of sight, but then Fat Amy’s voice responds, and Emily melts out of her shock. 

“Come on, dude. Don’t play dumb with me,” Beca snaps. Emily’s never heard her use such a stern voice before — at least not seriously — and it sends chills down her spine. She’s definitely eavesdropping, but she doesn’t want to interrupt this conversation with her stupid apology. 

She also can’t help but to wonder what this is about.

“Okay, fine. I’ll stop using all your shampoo,” Fat Amy concedes grudgingly, “and your conditioner. And your razor.” 

“Wh-… _ no _ . We’re coming back to that, but no. I mean your deal with Emily.” 

“Emily?” Amy asks, clearly as surprised as the freshman. She creeps closer to the door, tilting an ear towards the conversation.

“You’re being, like, unreasonably mean to her,” Beca says bluntly. “And it’s kind of getting old. She’d clearly had a bad day, and your comment was totally out of line.” 

_ Holy crap, is Beca…standing up for me?  _

“Oh, come on. It was obviously just a joke.” Fat Amy uses her  _ I-think-you’re-being-too-serious-about-this _ tone, which only seems to annoy Beca further. 

“Look, I just don’t like the negativity you give her, all right? Teasing her about controllable things like spacing out or tardiness is fine, but body-related jokes? Really?”

“Right, like I don’t get plenty of that,” Amy chuckles good-naturedly, but she stops laughing abruptly, probably from a look that Beca shoots her. 

“Cut the shit, Ames. Stop picking on the Legacy, all right?”

“All right, all right.”

“Good.” 

And Emily lets out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding, feeling giddy and nervous at the same time. Beca, the stoic and somewhat distant captain, had stood up for  _ her _ , the bumbling freshman who was too awkward and shy to let anyone know she was in a sour mood. 

“This uncomfortable callout doesn’t have to do with the huge toner you have for her, does it?” she hears Fat Amy ask. 

And Emily’s only heard the word once, when Beca and Chloe decided to roast Aubrey one day, but she knows what it means and implies. At the same time her stomach does a backflip, she hears a water bottle hit the floor in the practice room. 

“H-…wh-…how… _ what _ ? Ex _ cuse _ me?” Beca stutters, and if Emily was shocked at her deadly serious tone, this panicked ramble sounds like a whole other language. 

“The toner.” Fat Amy repeats matter-of-factly and without laughing, which is impressive considering the ridiculousness of the word. “I mean, we all see how you look at her, so I wasn’t sure if —”     

“N-no, god, no. No, I do not have a…a  _ thing _ for the Legacy. Got that? She’s actually really chill and fun to hang out with, and you would know if you took five minutes to get to know her instead of berating her like some typical bully.”

“Riiiight.” 

This is  _ not _ what Emily came back for, and she doesn’t know what to do. Would it be weird to go in now and pretend she didn’t hear anything? Would it be weirder to acknowledge what she heard? Or should she just leave and apologize another day? 

_ Wait, why am  _ I _ even apologizing? _

But before she can make up her mind, Beca’s saying bye to Amy and heading towards the door where Emily’s listening, and oh god oh god oh god she’s coming but where can she possibly go? 

The tiny senior practically slams into Emily as she exits the practice room, and there’s an annoyed “what the hell,” starting on her tongue before she sees who she ran into. Upon seeing Emily, her eyes go wide and she turns as red as the freshman feels.

“I-I didn’t hear any of that,” Emily says, and it comes out in such an unconvincing rush that she feels herself brightening even more. Beca only gapes at her, mouth opening and closing, so she races to continue and redeem her stupid lie. “B-but uh. I-if I did, I would, um. Say thank you. For standing up for me.” 

And Beca doesn’t look like she’s about to regain her speech any time soon, so Emily turns on her heel and books it out of the building before she makes an even bigger fool of herself. She may have had a terrible ending to a terrible day, but Beca’s words ring through her mind like a pep rally cheer, and Emily finds herself skipping towards her room, her uncontrollable blush joined by an uncontrollable smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> I apologize because this is lowkey terribly written but I wanted to get it out of my hair even though I love the prompt fwjaeorijwaseraoiuq I'm the worst omg
> 
> you...can send prompts...if you want...but it will probably take weeks for me to get to them...bc I suck: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	6. airport meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I love the idea of them meeting at an airport or on a flight. Or maybe they notice each other at security and it turns out they’re on the same flight or something?"
> 
> PORQUE NO LOS DOS
> 
> I friggen LOVE airports for some inexplicable reason so I may have projected that onto Beca and made her somewhat ooc but listen it's fine
> 
> HEY this is its own fic now: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934575/chapters/34600301

Beca Mitchell is the fucking queen of public transportation.

Since she’s still just an low-level producer at a hotshot record-production studio, Beca is usually the one who’s sent out for out-of-state meetings and deals. The higher-ups have the stable titles, stable positions, stable salaries, and a guarantee that they won’t have to travel out of town. Not that she minds; ever since her parents divorced back in middle school and Beca commuted back and forth to her dad’s house every month, she’d been a confident and smooth traveller.

Buses? Trains? Trams? Subways? Taxis? Done. Easy peasy. She’d even hitchhiked before, which technically doesn’t even count as public transportation, but Theo was stupid as hell and didn’t fill up the gas tank once and they got stuck in the middle of the turnpike, so it counts for Beca.

But where she _really_ thrives is the airport.

Maybe it’s because of all the _time_ that has to be spent — what with the super advanced booking and the security check and the boarding time and the standby time and then _finally_ the departure — for a flight, but airports always seem like a big deal to people. Sure, it’s usually for a long-awaited trip or vacation so “big deal” might be an understatement, but that’s not what Beca sees when she people watches at the airport. They go in looking nervous or excited or scared, like they don’t exactly know what to expect and don’t know for sure whether or not they can fully conquer it without fucking up their journey somehow.

It makes Beca feel like a badass seasoned veteran traveller.

In a strictly business sense, which makes it that much cooler.

Not that she would ever tell anyone that she gets a high off the feeling of public transportation superiority. She knows that if she ever looks excited for a bus trip to Stamford or a four-hour train ride to D.C., Theo would never let her hear the end of it. He’d probably find ways to twist her desires into a coffee run every ten minutes.

“Heard you like public transportation,” Beca can practically hear him teasing. “Here, take a trip downtown and get me that Vietnamese coffee we got at that cafe one time.”

Even now, as he pulls his car jerkily into the drop-off line at JFK, Beca keeps her expression bordering somewhere between neutral and unhappy so Theo doesn’t pick up on her _time to fuckin’ thrive_ vibes that springs up at the sight of suitcases and luggage carts.

“Now, be careful, all right?” Theo says with concern as Beca slips her laptop into her bag. He always worried over the longer flights and layovers, and because this trip to Los Angeles was super last-minute, the studio had only been able to get a hold of a flight with a five-hour layover in Chicago. “It’s going to be a while until you can settle down in L.A. so you’re probably gonna get tired, but you can’t —”

“I’ll be fine, dude,” she cuts in with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve done Seattle to Georgia when I was fifteen and they called me an ‘unaccompanied minor.’ I think I can handle a routine trip to L.A.”

“Just want you to get there safe, is all.”

Gathering up her bag, Beca sighs and holds up her hand in a scout’s honor. “Promise I won’t talk to any strangers.”

“Call me when you get there!” he calls just before she closes the door on him, and she shoots him a thumbs up over her shoulder to indicate that she’d heard.

 _Overprotective worrywart,_ Beca thinks to herself with a small smile. She knows he means the best, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate it. But only when she hears his car drive off does she let the tension in her shoulders go. _All right, show time_.

Honestly though, the hype was more in the anticipation than the actual process. Beca is too experienced to actually fall into the time-consuming pitfalls of airport travel, so she’d already checked in ahead of time online and brought her designated carry-on size rolling suitcase so she wouldn’t have to check her luggage.

So she sails past the check-in counters and heads straight to security, already unzipping her jacket and fumbling with the clasp on her bag to take out her laptop.

The line for the security check is longer than Beca had expected on a Tuesday afternoon. She eyes the lanes warily as she hands her ticket and ID to the TSA officer, trying to judge the wait time for each line by the people in it.

The farthest lane has an old couple struggling to take off their shoes. Pass.

The second has a gaggle of teens, probably on their first trip without parental supervision, with a TSA officer repeatedly yelling directions at them. Double pass.

The next lane looks relatively normal, and Beca considers it while waiting for the gatekeeping TSA officer to hand her back her ID. She glances at the two remaining lanes — one with four, large, mean-looking men with tattoos and scars, and the other with a family of three children and a grandmother — and decides to stick with the third lane.

As soon as she gets into line, she knows she’d made a mistake; judging by her appearance, the girl in front of Beca is clearly unprepared for the security check. She still has on her jacket, a beanie, combat boots with tight laces, a Starbucks drink in hand, and a water bottle sticking out of her backpack.

Compared to Beca, who had practically stripped everything but her clothing off while waiting for her ID and ticket to be checked, this girl looks like a walking security nightmare.

_Damn it, Beca. You picked the worst lane after all._

But she has a feeling that’s not entirely true. Sure, being stuck behind an inexperienced flier isn’t a walk in the park, but it probably beats the frustration of being stuck behind old people or a rowdy family. And Beca could most certainly just clear her throat, get the girl’s attention, and warn her that _hey, maybe it’s a good idea to take off all your gear and get rid of those drinks before the TSA yells at you_ —  she’d done that before for Theo, the idiot — but some twisted part of her wants to see how the girl reacts under pressure.

Okay, so she’s a public transportation guru but no one said she has to be a Good Samaritan. She has a right to be an ass when she wants to be.

“Ma’am? You have to take off that jacket,” a TSA officer calls to the girl, and Beca braces herself for the officer to point out the slew of other offenses.

“O-oh, okay.” The girl puts her backpack on the metal counter and shrugs out of her jacket.

“And the hat,” the officer continues, motioning to her head.

“Right,” the girl says with a nervous laugh, whipping it off and putting it in the bin with her jacket. Beca watches as she pulls at her hat hair, combing her fingers through long, dark, wavy locks of —

 _Okay, whoa. Relax, Beca_.

“No drinks either, ma’am.” The TSA officer continues, visibly annoyed, pointing to the coffee and then to the garbage can behind her. “And the water,” she adds.

“Oh, stars,” the girl mutters, racing to the garbage as Beca calmly slides her two bins, one with her jacket and another with her laptop and shoes, along the counter behind the girl’s backpack. Taking pity, she grabs an extra bin and puts the girl’s jacket and beanie in. “Oh, thank you so much.”

“Not a problem,” Beca replies, holding back a smile. The girl is actually kind of adorable, mostly in that I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing-but-I’m-trying-my-best-okay kind of way, but also in that cute, nervous puppy sort of way. A part of her hair is still rumpled from her aggressive beanie removal, and Beca has to hold herself back from straightening it out for her.

_Oh, my god. What the hell? What? What am I doing?_

“Empty your pockets, please,” the TSA officer now calls to the line as a whole, and the girl reaches frantically into her pockets to take out her wallet, her phone, a pack of gum, and some spare change. By now, she’s at the front of the line next to the metal detector, and she steps back with an uncertain _is that everything?_ kind of expression as her bag and bin go down the belt.

Biting back a laugh, Beca hands her another bin. “Your shoes, dude.”

The girl lets out a soft curse, something that sounds an awful lot like, “Oh fudgesicles,” and drops immediately to the floor. Just when Beca’s about to pass her for the metal detector, she springs back up again, boots in hand. “Zippers,” she says proudly, pointing to the thin flap that Beca had missed before when judging her shoes. “Thought you’d had to wait for me to untie everything, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t gonna wait,” Beca says bluntly, but smiles a little so she doesn’t look like a complete and utter asshole. Thankfully, the girl doesn’t take it personally. She thankfully passes through the metal detector without a hitch, and Beca follows closely behind.

“Thanks for that,” the girls says as Beca collects her things. She’s putting on her jacket and beanie and backpack and shoes all at once, and she looks like a half-dressed mess. But she still smiles gratefully at Beca, and all of a sudden her stomach bottoms out. Returning a tight smile, Beca just slides her laptop into her bag and collects her jacket.

“Don't mention it,” she says. And without another word, she’s returning her bins to the stack and heading down the hallway towards her gate.

 _No, no, no. God no. The airport? Really? The_ airport _? This is the_ last _place to flirt and pick up strangers, Beca. What the hell are you doing? You don’t even know her. You don’t even know where she’s going. You’re never even going to see her again. After one smile? That’s all it takes for you? One smile?_

She knows she’s being unfair to herself; none of what happened was her fault, aside from maybe extending a helping hand. But her asshole-nature can only handle so much; she has enough humanity left to offer some degree of assistance to a naive, inexperienced, disoriented, adorkable, cute —

_Oh, my god. Okay. That’s it._

Beca strides angrily over to the cafe kiosk by her gate and orders a coffee even though she doesn’t exactly want one, as if punishing herself. Snatching up her drink and credit card, she plants herself down in the waiting area and takes out her laptop and soundproof headphones. She clicks open an unfinished mix she’d been working on during her free time and starts fidgeting around with it, drowning out all thoughts of work, Theo, L.A., and the girl at security.

Only when she sees people lining up at the gate in her peripheries does she tear her eyes away from the laptop. She hears a soft spoken, “Now boarding passengers in zone 1. Zone 1.”

Since her boarding pass indicates that she’s a zone 2 passenger, Beca shuts down her laptop and gathers up her belongings. She hops on the growing line, knowing that they’ll call for zone 2 passengers before she gets to the front of the line — not that it really matters to them, anyway — and chugs the rest of her lukewarm coffee so her hands will be free to lift her suitcase into the overhead bin.

Seasoned veteran.

Don’t mess with Beca Mitchell, pro traveller.

She speedwalks down the chilly and drafty bridge to the plane and shuffles on board, nodding briefly to the flight attendant that greets her. Her suitcase rolls silently down the carpeted aisle as she makes her way down towards her seat, eyes scanning boredly over the faces of the other passengers.

And she freezes over.

Because the girl at the security line is staring right back at her. They’re on the same friggen flight.

What’s even crazier is that she’s sitting right next to Beca’s seat. And she looks just as confused as Beca.

“Oh, hi?” she offers when they’re close enough.

“Hi,” Beca says tentatively. “I’m…you’re…” she points to the empty seat next to her. “That’s mine,” she says stupidly.  

“Are you following me?” the girl asks, and Beca is immediately defensive.

“Wh — no, dude. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

She can feel the annoyed glares from the passengers boarding behind her, so she quickly tosses her bag and jacket into the bin and takes her seat. Her heart is inexplicably thundering in her chest, and Beca clears her throat to dispel whatever reservations she’s feeling about this weird turn of events.

“Wow,” the girl says, voice full of bemused delight. “What a coincidence, huh?”

“Yeah,” Beca nods, agreeing with the understatement of the century, “a coincidence.”

It seems more like a cruel twist of fate, like some form of divine punishment on Beca for first being rude to this girl by not extending all of the help she needed, and then for briefly crushing on her afterwards because of _one damn smile, come on, Mitchell!_

“I’m Emily, by the way,” the girl says, extending a hand. Beca tries not to look at her sunny smile, but it’s impossible to avoid when they’re literally a foot apart. She returns the handshake and tries to ignore how warm and soft Emily’s hand is.

“Beca.”

“Well, Beca,” she says, still smiling that perfect smile. “I just wanted to thank you again for helping me out at security. I’ve never really flown alone before, so I kinda forgot all the airport shenanigans.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.” Beca shrugs. “I could’ve helped you out more. You looked like a TSA officer’s worst nightmare and I could’ve warned you that you had to take everything off before she did.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Emily says, waving her hand. “Best way to learn is through mistakes, right?”

Beca can’t help but to snort out a laugh at this girl’s upbeat attitude. “That’s one way to look at it.”

The speaker crackles to life and a stewardess announces that doors are about to close. And usually, this is the time Beca pulls out her headphones and blocks out the world and relaxes in her seat. But for some reason, she feels an antsy and nerve-wracking desire to keep talking to Emily.

“You, uh. Visiting family in Chicago?” she asks awkwardly.

Queen of public transportation.

Total newbie at small talk with fellow passengers.

“Oh, no.” Emily says, shaking her head. “I actually have a connecting flight from O’Hare. Like, there’s a five-hour layover time in between that’ll probably suck, but then I’m flying down to L.A.! It’s gonna be my first time there,” she gushes, but Beca just stares at her, flabbergasted.

“You’re _kidding_.”

And Emily looks so innocently puzzled that it makes Beca want to reach over and squeeze her cheeks. “No? I mean, yeah, it’s kind of dumb, flying all the way north to Chicago and wait there for five hours only to fly down to L.A., but that was the only flight I could afford at the moment, so —”

“No, I mean,” Beca cuts in. She reaches into her pocket and draws out her print-out boarding passes. “I’m on the same exact trip. Five hour layover. Bound for L.A.”

Emily practically snatches the tickets out of Beca’s hand, her mouth falling open. “Oh-em-fricken-gee! What? That’s crazy!”

“What are the odds, huh?” Beca chuckles lightly, pretending like her heart isn’t practically clawing its way out of her chest. _Fate? Is it fate? Is this some kind of weird fate thing? Is the universe trying to tell me something?_

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Emily exclaims, beaming. “You can totally help me through with the whole layover thing! I mean, I’m sure I can figure it out in five hours, but I don’t want to get lost or anything because I heard O’Hare is the biggest airport in America, and that’s _not_ the greatest thing to hear when you’re a first-time flyer like me, let me tell you. And if it’s five whole hours, maybe I can even treat you to dinner or a coffee or whatever as a thank you, and maybe afterwards —”

Beca just watches and nods as Emily talks, rambling on and on about doing this and going through that and gesturing wildly for no foreseeable reason. And she should be annoyed that a stranger is squeezing herself into her designated travelling-alone time and making herself comfortable in Beca’s space, but every word that comes out of this girl’s mouth just invigorates her and makes her feel…excited about the five-hour layover.

“...as long as, uh. You don’t…mind, of course.” Emily finishes, looking expectantly at Beca. “Sorry, we just met and I’m acting like we’re old friends. You’re just, um.” She pauses, searching for the right word. “You’re like, a reassuring presence. You know? It seems like you know what you’re doing and it’s comforting.”

“Thanks,” Beca replies, feigning uncertainty but ruining it with a smile. “Sounds like I’m your new mom.”

“Oh, gross. _Not_ that moms are gross, but that’s not how I want to look at it.” Emily nudges a playful elbow into Beca’s arm that sends a violent line of goosebumps down her back. “More like, travel buddies.”

There’s no reason for a pair of such elementary words to plant a smile on Beca’s face, but it certainly does. “Sure,” she finds herself saying. “Travel buddies.”

The excited smile and containable wiggle Emily gives her is enough to make her heart melt. _Holy lord, Beca. Snap out of it_.

“You…uh.” Beca clears her throat to dispel the super embarrassing waver in her voice. “So what are you headed to L.A. for?”

“Oh, stars, I never fully answered your question, did I?” Emily giggles a little and Beca practically drowns in the bubbly cadence of her laugh. “I’m actually headed to a meeting with a recording studio! I write…well, okay, this is going to sound dumb, but I write songs. As a hobby, not for a living. Well, _yet_ ,” she says with a wink.

Beca’s mouth goes dry. “Uh…recording studio? In L.A.?”

“Yeah! Like a legit one, too! I was supposed to meet my agent at  O’Hare but her flight got majorly delayed so she’s probably not going to make our connecting one…but it’s cool! Our meeting with the studio’s tomorrow afternoon, so it works out.”

“Uh, which,” Beca clears her throat again. “Wh-which studio?”

If Emily hears the stutter or the slightly panicked pitch, she doesn’t point it out. “Residual Heat? The one that released that weird Snoop Dogg Christmas album like, a year ago.”

Beca slowly lets out the breath she’d been holding, unsure of whether to feel disappointed or relieved that Emily isn’t about to show up at her studio tomorrow.  

“They’re not bad,” she says, nodding. “They got some solid albums and artists in their roster. Nothing huge, but reputable. But, uh, hey. If it doesn’t work out with that company…” She reaches into her wallet and pulls out a spare business card, feeling like a fucking badass. “You can see what _we_ can do for you instead.”  

“Whoa! You’re a music producer? What! That’s amazing!” Emily holds the business card like it’s the Holy Grail and looks at Beca like she’s her own personal savior. “This is. Wow. Whoo! I’m getting a little nervous over here,” she says, fanning herself excitedly.

 _Right back atcha,_ Beca thinks, smiling at Emily’s reactions. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Don’t reject Residual if you really like them. But just letting you know we’re a little closer to home.”

“This is…wow,” Emily says, and Beca silently agrees. “This is like, weird, right? To you? It’s not just me. Right?”

“It’s pretty weird,” she nods. “But hey, I’ll take it. After all the annoying mouthbreathers with B.O. I’ve sat next to on past flights, I’ll take a cute songwriter any day. Let’s forget I said that and just move on,” Beca says, not missing a beat. Her heart, on the other hand, has a friggen explosion and sends heat waves rushing to her cheeks. “Y-you have any songs I can listen to right now?”

“O-oh, yeah.” Emily’s also a little pink, and Beca mentally slaps herself for the slip. She rummages around in her pockets for her earbuds to avoid looking at Emily.

“Excuse me, ma’am? We’re just about ready for departure and we’re going to need all cell phones to be switched off or onto airplane mode.” A stewardess blooms out of nowhere and leans over Beca’s seat to whisper to Emily.

“Oh, right. Sorry!” Emily whispers back. “Sorry,” she says to Beca. “Maybe I can show you when we land?”

“Yeah, that works for me. We’ve got five hours to kill, so.”

Emily smirks and raises her eyebrows. _What does that mean? What does that mean?!_  Beca’s mind goes into overdrive as Emily switches off her phone.  

“Oh, wait. That reminds me,” Beca says, taking out her phone, “I gotta text my supervisor.”

 **Beca:** _Sorry._

 **Beca:** _Broke my promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> if you picked up on Up In The Air vibes you are 100% correct because I relate to George Clooney's character on a spiritual level 
> 
> listen I'm always taking prompts but it'll realistically take weeks for me to respond but: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	7. airport meeting pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "if i could trouble you for an airport sequel it'd be hella lit but if not then thats okay just know i love it !!!!!"
> 
> BITCH ME TOO airports are my fave 
> 
> I hope that's obvious because I try not to do part 2s for these one-shots
> 
> also a significant portion of this fic was inspired by what happens in the long fic I'm writing, so there's probably going to be...repeat...themes...because I suck...
> 
> ALSO HEY this is its own fic now with potential many chapters?? https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934575/chapters/34600301

When the plane touches down on the runway of O’Hare, Emily can hardly contain her excitement. The last two and a half hours had been spent in a non-stop conversation with Beca — a super cool, super nice, super pretty, super talented music producer with JV Records — and they’d talked about everything from music to school to family to jobs and back to music until the announcement was made for landing preparations.

Talking to Beca is like talking to an old friend, even though they’d only met a few hours ago, and Emily never wants to stop. The five-hour layover and the four-hour flight they’re about to share is like some sort of divine blessing, and though she’d been nervous to tackle all that extra travel time alone, having Beca by her side is reassuring to say the least.

“All right, let’s hear that song,” Beca says as soon as the roar of the engine dies away. The plane is still coasting along the runway towards their gate, and people are just now switching their phones back on.

“Oh, y-yeah.” She fumbles with her phone and turns it on. Beca takes hers off of airplane mode and Emily hears a thousand _ping!_ s from notifications.

“Ugh,” she groans. “Shut up, dude.”

“Your supervisor?”

“And various other annoyances from the studio.” Beca rolls her eyes with exasperation but shoots Emily a good-natured smile. It’s impossible for her not to return one.

Everything about Beca screams practicality. She’s dressed comfortably but professionally, with dark jeans, a loose shirt, a soft blazer, and low cut boots; unlike Emily and her leggings-hoodie combo, Beca is ready for both travel and work. Her bag is big enough to carry all of her stuff but small enough to fit the carry-on limitations. The way she talks is incredibly straightforward, bordering on blunt, but in an honest, no-frills way that Emily hopes is how all music producers speak.

And though she seemed pretty intimidating at first, the more Emily talks with Beca, the softer her expression gets, until she’s smiling at practically everything Emily says.

She’d always been a little awkward when it came to talking with strangers, but Beca makes it effortless and enjoyable.

Emily’s phone finally turns on and she flips through her e-mail to find the file that she’d sent her agent a while back. “Here,” she says, clicking open the file and handing her phone over to Beca. She already has earbuds out — because of course she’s ready for something like this — and she offers one side to Emily.

It’s pretty embarrassing, listening to her amateur recording of a half-baked song with a professional music producer, but Beca nods along to the tempo and smiles at the cheesy lyrics. “This song have a title?” she asks when the second chorus hits.

“Flashlight,” Emily shrugs. “I know, I know. Not really creative.”

“It’s to the point. That’s creativity in itself.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “I’ve heard some pretty terrible song and album titles. Simple is refreshing.”

And Emily beams because even though it’s a brief and somewhat off-handed compliment, it sounds like the world’s greatest praise coming from Beca. The song ends just as the plane parks next to the gate, and passengers all around them start getting up and grabbing their bags from the bins.

“You got some pipes,” Beca comments as she hands Emily back her phone. “That’s quite a range, too. You get lessons or something?”

“Nope. All self-taught. Lots of shower singing.”

“And the songwriting?”

“My eighth-grade English teacher was super into poetry and she got me hooked into writing.” Emily purses her lips, embarrassed. “The lyrics aren’t the best, I know, but that’s kinda what I want to work on with…well, _a_ record company, if you will.”

Beca smirks as she squeezes herself into the packed aisle to open their bin. “Are they from the heart?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

She hands Emily her backpack and jacket before reaching for her own suitcase. Suddenly she pauses, her bag half-in and half-out of the bin, and fixes Emily in a thousand-yard stare. “We have five hours,” she whispers, mostly to herself, and Emily can almost hear the gears turning in the tiny producer’s head. Then she lets out a long, long hum as she lowers her suitcase effortlessly from the overhead bin.

“Are you…okay?” Emily asks.

Beca nods slowly. “How do you feel about going on a scavenger hunt?”

“A…a…?”

“Scavenger hunt,” she repeats.

“At…O’Hare?”

“Yeah. We have five hours.”

Revitalized with an unknown energy and intent, Beca zooms out of the aircraft as soon as the doors open, Emily following her quickened pace with ease on her longer legs, confused about what’s happening but still excited for whatever adventure her travel buddy has in mind.

“Okay, wait.” Beca pauses just as they enter the concourse. “Let’s grab coffee first. That’s not part of the scavenger hunt, but you did mention something about treating me, so.”     

Elated that she’d remembered, Emily happily buys Beca a coffee and get a latte for herself to make up for the one she was forced to throw out on the JFK security line. They settle down at a table near the edge of the cafe, right next to the pathway where hundreds of travellers are milling around.

“So what exactly are we hunting for?” Emily asks, watching Beca as she scans the crowd intently. “Something old? Something new?”

Though her gaze remains on the crowd, a smile softens Beca’s eyes. “Mostly something borrowed. Definitely not something blue.” She snaps her attention back to Emily, and the younger girl fights to keep a neutral, if not politely puzzled, expression.  

It’s hard because Beca’s so pretty and _cool_ and confident all at once. And she’s just plain old Emily.

“Ever record a song in a professional studio?”

“Wh-…?  No? I-I mean, I hope one day, yeah. But not yet.”

“Good.” Beca nods, taking out her laptop from a side pocket. “Because this would be a serious downgrade if you have.”

“A-are we recording a song?” Emily asks, nervous and excited. Beca bends over in her chair to lay her suitcase flat on the ground and unzip it with a flourish. She pulls out several cables, a clunky pair of expensive-looking headphones, and a small contraption that looks like a weird cross between a walkie-talkie and a microphone.

“If the scavenger hunt goes well, then maybe.”

“You never told me what we’re looking for.”

Beca glances at Emily and smiles, fiddling with the cables and equipment. “It’s not much. I’ll be able to find it myself.”

“But…then I can’t help,” she says, confused.

“Yeah, it’ll be like a surprise…whoa, hang on.” Her eyes snap onto something — or some _one_ — past Emily’s shoulder, and suddenly she’s gathering up everything in her arms and rising from her seat. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

And she’s off, clutching her laptop and the mic to her chest, headphones hanging around her neck.

Emily watches, astounded and amused, as Beca shuffles across the concourse with all of her gear before coming to a stop in front of a group of men with a luggage cart loaded with instruments. “Ohh,” Emily says softly to herself as Beca converses with the group, who at first seemed alarmed at the tiny gadget-clutching girl but are now smiling and nodding at whatever she’s telling them.

One of the men, a tall, lanky guy with a beanie similar to Emily’s, pulls out a case from the stack on the cart and motions for the rest of them to go on without him. He then follows Beca as she leads him towards an unused gate, still within Emily’s view but definitely too far for her to listen to their conversation.

She sips at her latte as she watches Beca sit down with the guy in an empty seating area, gesturing wildly with her hands and talking enthusiastically. The guy sets down his case and draws out a jet-black acoustic guitar, and smiles with a nod as Beca points excitedly to the bottom of the instrument. He reaches back down into his case and pulls out a cable, plugging one end into the guitar and the other into Beca’s weird microphone contraption.

Emily wishes she could go over and hear what they’re doing, but at the same time, she wants to trust Beca’s promise of a surprise. The guy begins playing something and Beca puts on her headphones, fiddling around with her laptop and the mic. She stops him occasionally and makes a circular motion with her hands, probably telling him to keep going or to keep looping, and eventually shoots him a thumbs up, pulling off her headphones. They talk a little bit more and Beca hands him something, and then she’s rushing back to Emily with a huge smile on her face.

“Okay,” she says, sounding breathless. “One down, two to go.”

She deliberately focuses on her laptop and avoids Emily’s curious look, biting down on a smile. “Really? You’re not going to show me what he played?”

“You’ll hear it eventually,” Beca says playfully. “Well, the next one’s pretty tricky, so I don’t know if we’ll be able to get it,” she admits, sipping idly at her coffee. “But it’s not totally necessary, so we’ll live.”

“What is it?” Emily tries, knowing by Beca’s teasing smile that she’s not about to get an answer.

“You’ll see. Maybe. I don’t know about this one.”

She leads them to the terminal’s lost and found, located in the back corner of the main check-in counters. There’s a tired-looking employee manning the desk, and he looks up blearily as they approach.

“Hi,” Beca starts uncertainly. “I lost a pair of headphones here about a month ago, did you guys happen to pick it up? They’re the Beats Studio3 Wireless headphones. White. Gold B’s on the sides. The cushioning on one side is a little ripped.”

The man at the desk rises heavily from his seat without a word and trudges towards the back room, where Emily can see shelves upon shelves of lost items.

“I didn’t lose those headphones,” Beca whispers as the employee rummages in the back. Emily stares at her in shock.

“What? You just made it up?”

“Not exactly. My supervisor Theo told me he lost his pair when he was here last month.” Beca crosses her fingers. “Here’s to hoping airport staff picked it up.”

It takes a good five minutes, but the guy returns with a pair of headphones that look exactly like the ones Beca had described. “These it?” he asks.

“Damn,” Beca says, voicing Emily’s surprise. “You guys are good. Thanks.”

They make their way back to the concourse, feeling like they’d just stolen something. “It’s that easy? They don’t need like…I dunno, ID or something?”

“Headphones aren’t microchipped,” Beca laughs. “There’s no way for them to tell. Besides, there’s no way these _wouldn’t_ be mine if I could describe them with such detail.” She pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the Beats. “Owes me a drink, the bastard.”  

“Two down, one to go?” Emily asks.

“One to go,” Beca agrees, checking the time. “Last one might take a while to find, though. Wanna grab something to eat first?”

It’s too early for dinner but neither had eaten lunch, so they each buy an overpriced sandwich from a deli. The food court is jam-packed with no open tables, and the seating for nearby gates are too crowded for either of them to settle down comfortably. They end up sitting on the floor against the far wall of the concourse where foot traffic is lighter, munching on their sandwiches with their paper plates balanced in their laps.

“This is all so surreal,” Emily says after swallowing a huge bite. “I’m eating a $12 sub on the floor of O’Hare airport with a stranger while taking a break from playing a mystery scavenger hunt that could possibly result in recording an impromptu song.”

“Does sound a lot like a fever dream.”

“Stars, who’s gonna believe me?”

“You’ll have some proof,” Beca says reassuringly.

Emily chews slowly and mulls over her question. “Do you do this often?” she finally asks. “Like. Talk to random strangers. Stick with them through long layovers. Offer a record deal. Conduct a scavenger hunt.”

Beca’s smile grows with each activity Emily lists until she finally laughs at the last one. “Nope. None of the above. You’re the first.”

And Emily had suspected as much, but it still makes her giddy and overwhelmed to hear Beca confirm it. _What if I end up signing with her company? What if we end up working together? Oh, boy. How_ cool _would it be to collaborate with someone like Beca?_

“Finished?” Beca asks, and Emily swallows her last bite in response. “Cool. Ready for the last part?”

“I dunno, am I?”

“Don’t worry,” she says, leading the way. “It’ll be fun.”

And she trusts Beca.

They make their way towards the far end of the terminal, the crowd getting thinner and thinner as they go along. By the time Beca leads them down the second escalator, there’s practically no one around them. TheY eventually reach a wide hallway with nothing but long strips of moving walkways, humming softly into the echoing silence.

Beca stops and lays down her bag. “All right, here’s good.”

“Here?” Emily asks skeptically, looking around at the deserted space. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Totes.”

They settle down on the floor of a secluded corner, out of the way from the few people passing by but in plain sight so airport security doesn’t think they’re up to anything suspicious. Beca spreads her laptop, the weird mic thingy, her headphones, the extra headphones they’d taken from the lost and found, and a bunch of confusing wires out on the floor in front of them. Emily tries to help where she can, but she mostly leaves it to the professional.

“All righty,” Beca sighs, rubbing her hands together, “as much as I want to play around with the song you showed me, I don’t want to get in trouble with Residual Heat. If you sign with them.” She pauses and winks. “So we’re gonna settle for a cover.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. What song?”

Beca just smiles and hands Emily her supervisor’s lost headphones. “Just go with the flow.”

And for a second Emily thinks Beca just gave her a song title, but then she realizes that this girl is seriously going with the ‘surprise’ thing until the very end. “Is this some kind of test?” she asks, fidgeting with the headphones.

“A little,” Beca admits, plugging in cables and wires into her laptop, to the mic, and to the headphones. “Don’t worry dude, I’ll start us off. I know you can take the lead, but I want to hear if you can harmonize just as well. Also, if you don’t know this song, I’ll judge you pretty harshly.”

That doesn’t make Emily feel any better, but then Beca’s putting on her headphones and asking her if she’s ready, so all she can do is put on the other pair and shoot a thumbs up. Beca places the mic right in between them and clicks something on her laptop, and suddenly there’s the sound of a soft guitar intro and Emily _absolutely_ knows this song. And she beams at Beca to let her know that she recognizes the song, receiving a smirk and a nod in return.

Emily stops smiling — and quite possibly _breathing_ — as soon as Beca starts to sing.

 _From walking home and talking loads_ _  
_ _To seeing shows in evening clothes with you_

The microphone picks up both Beca’s voice and the subtle echo coming from the empty space, and Emily understands why she’d chosen the place. Everything is projected straight into the headphones, and Emily feels like she’s listening to her own personal concert. Holy crap. Holy _crap_ . This girl can sing. Like, _really_ sing. Emily stares, flabbergasted, as Beca continues on with the verse, smiling ever so slightly at Emily’s expression.  
  
_From nervous touch and getting drunk_ _  
To staying up and waking up with you_  

They lock eyes as the song enters the pre-chorus, and Emily takes it as a cue to jump in with a harmony. But Beca’s singing is so perfect that she doesn’t want to screw it up with her own voice, and she doesn’t exactly know what kind of background vocals she can put on these set of lines. After a nanosecond of hesitation, she settles for a quiet _oooh_ to match the bass notes of the guitar.

 _Now we're sleeping near the edge_  
_Holding something we don't need_  
_All this delusion in our heads_  
is  _gonna bring us to our knees_

Beca shoots her a thumbs-up and Emily almost loses the key by smiling too much. They dive into the chorus, which is much easier for her to harmonize to. She pitches her voice a little lower and harmonizes with Beca on the last word of every phrase save for the word ‘me,’ figuring those lines would sound cleaner with just one singer.  

 _So come on let it go, just let it be_  
_Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?_  
_Everything that's broke, leave it to the breeze_  
_Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?_ _  
And I'll be me_

The guitar riff starts again, and Beca points to Emily. “You next,” she mouths.

Her heart is beating super, _super_ fast, but she swallows her nerves and closes her eyes, taking the lead on the next verse.

 _From throwing clothes across the floor_  
_To teeth and claws and slamming doors at you_  
_If this is all we're living for_ _  
Why are we doing it, doing it, doing it anymore?_

Beca mimics Emily’s exact harmonies as they flow into the pre-chorus and chorus, and Emily keeps her eyes closed because she knows that if they make eye contact again, she won’t be able to keep the smile out of her voice.

And their harmony sounds _amazing_ through the headphones.

But then they’re nearing the end of the second chorus and Emily has no idea what Beca wants to do for the bridge, so she looks up in a slight panic to see Beca holding up a finger. _Wait_ , her eyes tell her, so Emily waits as Beca takes over the bridge.

 _Trying to fit your hand inside of mine_  
_When we know it just don't belong_  
_There's no force on earth_ _  
Could make it feel right, no_

She points to Emily with a nod, indicating she sing the next lines. 

 _Trying to push this problem up the hill_  
_When it's just too heavy to hold_ _  
Think now's the time to let it slide_

Barely restraining a smile, Beca waves her finger between them and mouths, “Together.” 

 _So come on, let it go, just let it be_  
_Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?_  
_Everything that's broke, leave it to the breeze_  
_Let the ashes fall, forget about me_  
_Come on,_   _let it go, just let it be_  
_Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?_  
_And I'll be me_

Unable to contain her happiness any longer, Emily’s face splits into such a wide smile that cheeks ache from the strain. She almost lets out an excited scream but covers her mouth and bounces uncontrollably in her seat instead, barely able to wait for the guitar to stop playing and for Beca to stop the mic from recording.

“ _What?_ ” is the first word that bursts from her mouth as soon as the mic is off. “You can _sing?_ That was _amazing!_ You can _sing!_ ” Emily feels _drunk_ . “Oh, stars, that sounded _awesome!_ Holy smokes, is this what you _do_ every day? That was so cool! It felt _so_ good, holy crap. Wow!”

And Beca’s just smiling serenely at her as she blabbers on with random adjectives, unplugging cables and shutting off the mic and fiddling with her laptop. “Let’s head back to civilization so I can access the airport wifi for this one mixing program I use. I’m guessing you were satisfied with that run?”

“Heck yeah!”

Emily feels breathless from the singing and the recording and Beca’s smile and her quiet laugh and the way she rolls her eyes so endearingly at Emily’s enthusiasm. She skips after the smaller girl as they make their way back to the concourse.

“Where’d you learn to sing backup like that?” Beca asks as they ride up a series of escalators. “That was some spot-on harmonizing.”

“O-oh, thanks. My mom was part of an a capella group in college. My family was forced to watch a ton of videos of her old performances.”

“Sounds like a brutal way to learn.”

“But I learned.”

“Fair,” Beca agrees. “You’ve got the makings of a real singer, dude. You’re definitely gonna go places.”

The proper response is to thank her, but the words get stuck in Emily’s throat while all the heat in her body rushes to her face. _It’s because she’s a music producer and she complimented you_ , she chides herself, _and totally not because she’s pretty and nice and you maybe might perhaps sorta have a tiiiiiiny crush on her_.

“Here works,” Beca says, jerking Emily out of her spluttering daydream, and gestures to a relatively empty seating area in front of an unused gate. “Let me just clean up the audio and I’ll send it your way.”

Emily nods wordlessly, unable to tear her eyes away from Beca’s concentrated face. This is what working with a record company is going to be like. This is what hearing a recording of her songs — though this particular one isn’t _hers_ — is going to sound like. This is how it’s going to feel to have her voice and her singing and her lyrics fiddled with and cleaned up and adjusted and jazzed up.

And thinking about it seriously, Emily kind of doesn’t want anyone but Beca working on her songs.

“All right, that’s probably the cleanest I can get it.” Beca straightens and Emily quickly lowers her eyes so she’s not caught staring like a creep. “Wanna listen?” she asks, handing the headphones back to her.

It.

Sounds.

_Amazing._

Emily can’t stop smiling through the whole song — even though hearing her own voice usually makes her cringe a little — because the harmony between them sounds like _magic._ There’s the perfect amount of echo to their voices, not too long or distracting, and fits with the slight echo on the guitar. But while their voices together sound _so_ musically satisfying, Emily feels her heart jump every time Beca sings a part alone.

_Why is she producing music? She should be the one being produced!_

She hands the headphones back to Beca when the song finishes, unsure of what to say. She’d already expressed her amazement when they’d finished recording, and honestly, she feels a bit emotional after hearing the song.

“You like it?” Beca asks tentatively when Emily doesn’t say anything, and she realizes with a shock that this supremely talented girl sounds _nervous_ to hear her opinion. As if Emily’s going to hate what she put together or something.

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice sounds soft and heartfelt, even to her own ears. “I love it.”

And she shouldn’t overthink the way Beca turns a little pink at her compliment, but she totally does.

“Hey, can I ask you something…kind of weird?” Emily suddenly asks. “It might reopen a wound.”

“Doesn’t sound too tempting to say ‘yes,’ but I guess I will for your sake,” Beca responds with a raised eyebrow. “I’m going to e-mail you the file for the song right now, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Okay, well…um. I know it was a brief and totally unintentional thing you said, but uh.” Emily swallows and risks everything with her next question. “D-did you mean it? W-when you said…um. That you’d prefer a cute songwriter sitting next to you on the plane? W-well, not the ‘preference’ part, but the ‘cute’ part —”

And Emily stops herself there, because if Beca had turned pink at the compliment for the song, she’s now completely red from her neck up. Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly before she buries her face in her hands.

“Oh, my god,” Beca says, her voice muffled by her hands.

“I’m sorry, I was just kind of wonder —”

“Oh, my _god_.”

“But it’s okay if you don’t to ans —”

“Holy _shit_.”

“S-sorry.”

“No, holy crap, don’t apologize.” She raises her head and smoothes out her hair, avoiding eye contact with Emily. “Um. Okay. Yeah, I did. Mean it.”

“The ‘cute’ part?”

“The ‘cute’ part, yeah.” Beca agrees, turning even redder. “You’re, like. Fricken adorable, Emily.”

And now it’s Emily’s turn to hide her face in her hands because _what the heck? What the heck is happening? Oh em gee? What? What if this really is a fever dream? Am I gonna wake up? Do I have to?_

“A-and talented. And an A-plus travel buddy,” Beca adds. “If you don’t stick with Residual, I’d…um. Love to work with you over at JV.”

Emily is internally screaming at this point, just wordlessly shrieking with joy as she stares, open-mouthed, at Beca, who looks incredibly uncomfortable with the amount of embarrassment she’s going through. And a crazy idea springs into Emily’s mind.

“Hey, um. We still have like…three-ish hours left, right?”

“Yeah?” Beca replies, confused by Emily’s sudden smile. She practically flinches when Emily shoots up to her feet.

“Then _I_ want to take _you_ on a scavenger hunt.”

“Oh? Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emily nods. “We’ll go with my original plan. Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue.” She counts off each item on her fingers and wiggles them at Beca.

“Are we getting married or something?” Beca teases, and smirks when Emily falters.

“N-no! I’m just…kind of maybe sort of trying to ask you to go on a date with me.”

Beca raises her eyebrows with surprise. “A date? In O’Hare?” She lets out a low whistle that has Emily’s face burning like it’s on fire. “Didn’t think I had it in you, kiddo. Very bold of you.”   

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Emily beams at Beca’s shy smile. “Yes. Definitely yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> the cover they sing is 100% inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlhAi9f3_1g
> 
> prompts at: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	8. First Burn au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: inspired off of the First Burn #hamildrop "Beca is this hot shot producer trying to make a legacy for herself and ends up treating Emily (maybe their kids) poorly."
> 
> A/N: hi yeah this prompt killed me and I hated every second of putting these soft children through so much angst so I hope you cry
> 
> okay in all seriousness this was super challenging to write because 1.) I can't see Beca cheating on Emily and 2.) some iconic lines like "I see how you look at my sister" (FUCKIN' BURN LIKE DAMN ELIZA) couldn't make it into this particular relationship and I'm so upset but also somewhat relieved because it already hurts so much

She shouldn’t regret it, but she does.

It was the defining moment of her career. The defining moment of her _life_. She remembers every detail of it. Being asked about her romantic life. Revealing everything off-handedly to the interviewer. Anxiously waiting for that interview to be publicized. Getting positive support and negative backlash. Having her male fanbase decline and her female fanbase triple in size. Being honored as a trailblazer in her industry.  

Beca Mitchell, the first openly gay female music producer with three platinum records and a Grammy nom under her belt at the young age of 27.

She was hailed as an icon, both in the music world and within the LGBT community, and it was a jarring experience. All her life, Beca had been pushed around and ignored by her colleagues because of her age and her gender. She’d had to fight tooth and nail just for an internship at a record company. She’d had to _beg_ just to have one client even when she’d started working full time. She’d had to command respect from her male clients, even with the Grammy nom slapped in her name.

All Beca’d wanted to do was make a name for herself. To have her talents recognized. To leave behind a legacy for future female music producers. To fucking be _appreciated_ for once in her life.

It wasn’t any kind of publicity stunt, if her publicist’s over-the-top reaction wasn’t enough of an indicator. But the world is growing more and more accepting and the only major backlash came from male fans who couldn’t fantasize screwing her anymore, which Beca was _totally_ fine with. Drunk with the attention and the compliments about her bravery and openness, she had let it all go to her head.

She was finally making a name for herself. Leaving behind some kind of mark on history. Inspiring others to follow in her footsteps.

And she shouldn’t regret it, but she does. Because that’s how it all starts.

* * *

Emily knows she didn’t do it for the attention.

Beca had always seen coming out as a risk to her career, and she valued her reputation too much to have it turned upside down by some homophobes. And Emily never minded; she was comfortable dating Beca under the guise that their relationship was strictly business. Everyone at the studio kind of had an idea that they were together, anyway.

When Beca outed herself to the world, it wasn’t some grand gesture of “hey, I’m gay and proud!” because that was definitely not her style.

An interviewer had asked about Beca’s romantic life. She’d responded that she was engaged as of two months prior. Which was true. Emily had stared, shocked and ecstatic and emotional and overwhelmed with happiness when Beca had dropped to one knee after giving Emily a beautifully decorated album of all the sappy love letters they’d written to each other throughout their relationship.

But her reaction to the proposal was nothing compared to when Emily heard that her fiance had just come out to the entire world by way of casual pronoun usage.

“I’m so happy for you,” the interviewer had said. “Must be a lot, planning a wedding with the _Grammy nomination_ —” he paused for the audience to applause “— and all these new artists on your plate.”

“Yeah, kind of,” Beca had shrugged casually. “It’s cool though, my fiance’s been doing a lot of the heavy lifting for the big day.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some solid support behind you.”

“Yeah, she’s great."

And the world _exploded_.

When Beca came home after the interview — which was set to be televised and publicized in a few days — Emily had no idea what to make of the disorienting amount of emotions crossing her fiance’s face.

“I just came out on national TV,” was all she said before collapsing in tears onto the floor. And Emily didn’t know whether to feel happy or proud or scared, and clearly Beca didn’t know either. They held each other for hours and talked about what this all meant for them, just two young women in love, trying to keep their head above the water in the music industry, fighting to make a name for themselves without stirring up waves.

And Emily remembers the slight fear in Beca’s otherwise confident tone when she assured them both that everything will be okay. That they’ll make it through. That she has enough credibility as a producer not to be kicked out of the studio for this major tabloid scandal.

She was right, and they muddled through. Though Beca hadn’t named Emily as her fiance, paps had tailed them enough to put two and two together, so it wasn’t long before their relationship was pasted all over the front page of every gossip rag at the checkout counter. Emily collected just about the same amount of negative and positive feedback, but she knew that her career and reputation didn’t hinge on these rumors like Beca’s did. To the world, she was just another semi-popular pop star with a quirk. The real anticipation was how the music industry would react to Beca.

She lost a few clients. Mostly male ones, the sleezy ones who was eyeing her for more than just a record deal. She got a stern talking-to from her supervisor about watching how she handles her image in such a highly judgemental industry. Her publicist came by their apartment and practically had an aneurysm right there in the living room because she’d been trying to keep their relationship under the radar for _so long_ and _you just turn all my efforts to shit with_ one _interview, really Mitchell?_

But for the most part, the dust started settling within a week. Next week’s tabloids were fixated on another scandal. No one could really publicly hate on Beca with the LGBT community and her record company standing behind her. And through all this, Beca gained confidence and embraced this new identity, and Emily couldn’t be happier for her.

But she remembers that initial fear.

So Emily knows she didn’t do it for the attention.

* * *

This isn’t what Beca had expected.

Okay, so she’d known that coming out would put a big fat label next to her name, and that everyone would associate her success and personality with her sexuality. That was just a given in this heteronormative world. It wasn’t all negative; at the very least, she hoped that there was another queer kid out there aspiring to be a music producer who could now look at Beca and think, _that could be me_.

But then came the girls.

Not the sweet and innocent singer-songwriter type of girls like Emily. No, definitely not those types of girls.

But the rougher, edgier, more jaded girls.

The girls who would stop at nothing to get what they want.

The girls who heard that sleeping with their record producer will get them a better rep in the music world.

The girls who were too afraid to try this with the male producers but felt comfortable enough with Beca to turn on their shameless charm.

They squeezed themselves into Beca’s space, clamoring for her attention, desperate for a moment alone so they can flirt their way through a contract or an extra track or two on their album. And Beca has too much pride for her job and love for Emily to ever fall prey to these girls, but there was no denying that it hindered the production process and threatened her reputation more than she liked.

Beca coming out as a gay female producer had given these wannabe postars a new technique through which they could finagle their way into the world of music, and their vicious agents were more than happy to dig into it.

And then there’s Maria.

Cookie-cutter, dark-haired, light-eyed popstar with one radio hit to her name. Always scantily-dressed no matter the weather. Stereotypical party girl. Surprisingly but honestly a great artist. Solid singing voice, sharp ear, internalized metronome, playful personality.

But Beca has a feeling that she’s the type of wild card who could pounce on her like a cat to a mouse if they’re ever left alone in a booth together. The constant bedroom eyes she gives the tiny music producer don’t help in the slightest. So, even though she feels like a paranoid fool, she makes sure there’s at least one other producer or techie next to her whenever she works with Maria, if there’s any sign that they’re about to be left alone, Beca quickly excuses herself from the room.

She doesn’t have time for this.

She’s trying to friggen leave behind a goddamn legacy.

It’s a pain in the ass and Beca grows frustrated with the whole ordeal, but there’s absolutely no way she’s risking her reputation for these thirsty girls. Thankfully, everyone takes the hint whenever Emily visits the studio, shying away from the power couple as they hole themselves up in a recording room to either work on a song or make out, no one can ever really tell.

That only pisses Beca off even more, because it means that these clients _know_ that she’s happily engaged but still feel like they can step into her space like she’s some cheating scum. Just to spite every single one of her irritating female clients, Beca cuts back on their meeting times more and more until she’s basically stopped all face-to-face meetings.

And that’s how the e-mails from Maria start.

It really, _really_ isn’t what Beca expected.

* * *

Emily understands.

Really, she does.

Heck, she’s now _married_ to this woman. She understands the pull of Beca’s charm. The addictive nature of Beca’s praise. How captivating it is to watch Beca talk about music.

She can’t blame these young girls for vying for Beca’s attention; she’s truly a role model to look up to. Young. Talented. Cool. Sharp. Witty. And so, _so_ warm. Emily knows how competitive and unforgiving the world of music can be, and she swells with pride whenever she thinks about how _her wife_ is paving the path for women who aspire to be producers.

There could be worse setbacks than trashy girls throwing themselves at Beca.

Much worse.

It doesn’t always make Emily feel better, but she knows it could be worse. Because despite the newfound fame and attention that comes with her outing, Beca is still the same awkward, sappy, lovable dork she’d fallen in love with back in college, and she trusts her with her life.

It’s the girls she doesn’t trust.

Beca rarely ever brings up the topic, but Emily knows it’s not because she’s guilty of anything. She can tell that Beca is _tired_.

“I just want to make music,” she tells Emily on one rare occasion she’s willing to talk about it. “This isn’t what I imagined would happen when I came out.”

Emily agrees.

And Beca looks so exhausted and fed up with everything, and all Emily wants to do is be there for her wife. “What if you…” she starts uncertainly. “Take a break?”

“A break?”

“Yeah. Like. A short vacation? We can go upstate or something, to those mountains we always said we were gonna hike one day.”

Beca pauses, and Emily can’t tell if she’s considering the trip or just wondering why her wife would suggest such a ludicrous idea.

“I…dunno, Em. I’m in the middle of producing this album, and we’re about to sign a brand new artist so he’s gonna need a ton of attention.” She blows out a deep breath. “I’m not saying I don’t want to. I just…have no time.”   

And Emily wants to press, to convince her that it’d be best for the both of them if they step away from the studio for a bit and get some fresh air in their lungs. She wants Beca to know that her legacy isn’t about to be tarnished by one little trip upstate, one little vacation with her wife.

But she holds her tongue because she knows how important this all is for Beca. She’s watched this woman grow from a timid intern into a full-blown production superstar, and Emily would never want to suggest that she put that dream on hold, even for a hot second. Isn’t _she_ trying to do the same as an artist? Emily would probably resist if Beca tried to convince her to take a break from music.

So, yeah. She understands.

* * *

Beca makes several major mistakes that one terrible night.

The first is agreeing to go to the afterparty.

Grammy nominations were just announced that morning, and Beca is, again, up in the running for an award, along with a few other colleagues. To celebrate, the studio throws together a last-minute company-wide dinner, inviting everyone from the producers to the tech crew to the clients and even their agents. And as per usual with company-wide dinners, they call for an afterparty at a high-end club way uptown.

And it’s not that Beca dives right into the idea of partying it up. She hesitates. Of course she hesitates. She’s a friggen _mom_ now. She has kids. A wife. A family to go home to. She’s waaaaay too old to be clubbing.

But Emily’s out of the state for the weekend and the kids are at Grandpa Mitchell’s for the night, so Beca doesn’t have anyone waiting up for her and she’d just won another nomination and maybe she can handle one night out to celebrate.

The second mistake she makes is having a few drinks.

Not enough for her to be drunk. She is one thousand percent accountable for her own actions, and she’ll own up to that until the day she dies. But she feels loose and giggly and _free_ and she dances along to the blaring music, letting down her hair for the first time in years.

It’s not until sometime after midnight that Beca senses the gazes of all of her flirtatious female clients. She starts to stick close to Theo, her supervisor, and tries to surround herself with the more polite and friendly bunch of clients.

The third mistake is going to the bathroom.

Which, okay, is totally beyond her control, but she could’ve gone to a different bathroom. She’d wanted to escape the noise for a bit so she’d gone down to the quieter basement bathrooms. That’s where she finds Maria throwing her guts up into a toilet.

The fourth mistake is not calling someone else down to help Maria.

Because as soon as Beca bends down to ask her if she’s okay, the wasted, helpless, weeping Maria doesn’t want her to leave her side. And with no signal in the basement and no one to wander down here, she’s stuck with this heaving girl for the next two and a half hours, holding back her hair and feeding her tap water through a discarded beer bottle.

She doesn’t know what to do. Maria had been constantly bugging Beca through e-mails upon e-mails, begging her to meet with her and help her with her songwriting, sending her pages upon pages of lyrics that fixated unrequited love that made Beca supremely uncomfortable. She’s a loaded gun aimed right at Beca’s reputation and credibility, and she wishes she could drop Maria but she _can’t_ because of her goddamn contract.

The last thing she wants to do is nurse this annoying chick on the floor of a club bathroom.

But she does, because she’s an idiot.

They stumble out of the club, half of Maria’s weight on Beca’s shoulder, well after three in the morning, and Beca hails a cab with no idea where to take this barely-conscious girl. Maria’s driver’s license states an Ohio address — probably her hometown — and there’s no information about where she lives. Beca’s demands for her to spit out her address is met with a sleepy laugh and terrifying burping.

The fifth mistake?

Bringing Maria to her apartment.

No one from the studio return her calls, Theo’s basically MIA, and Beca’s not about to leave Maria passed out on the side of the road. So she directs the cab to her apartment, drags this trashy girl painfully up the steps into the lobby, and dumps her unceremoniously onto the bed. After a thought, she turns Maria onto her side and places a garbage tin next to the bed.

Beca wishes Emily were here to help her. But then she’s thankful that her wife isn’t here to see what kind of clients she has to deal with. Exhausted, she lies down on the other side of the bed, as far away from Maria as she can get, and settles down to sleep with one eye open to make sure the girl doesn’t die on her bed.

Beca made too many mistake that night, but the biggest one was underestimating Maria.

* * *

Emily didn’t think three days away from Beca could change _so_ much between them.

When she steps off the plane from the midwest — where her cell service was next to nonexistent — the first text she sees is from Beca’s publicist, telling her not to have a public meltdown and to ignore anything the paps might say to her about Beca.

And before she can panic, her eyes catch sight of the cover of a tabloid on display at the airport newsstand. It’s a dark but clear photo of Beca, arm around a girl in a tight dress, walking into their apartment building.

 _Grammy Nominee Beca Mitchell Dispels Cheating Rumors_ _and Reveals Blackmail Scheme from Up-And-Coming Artist Maria Reynolds!_

Emily snatches the magazine off the rack and tears through the pages until she comes to the article. Beca Mitchell. Clubbing. Takes Maria Reynolds to her apartment. Middle of the night. Unknown acts. Blackmail. E-mails. Song lyrics. Photos.

She doesn’t understand a word of what’s going on. She desperately clings to a quote from Beca. “It’s all a huge misunderstanding. I have never and _will_ never cheat on my wife. This girl blackmailed me and threatened my marriage and career, and I’ll be da**ed if I don’t get in front of that story before she does.”

Emily doesn’t even realize she’s walking away with the magazine until the clerk yells at her for stealing. Though she doesn’t want to fund this trashy magazine, she throws her card at him to keep reading the story.

Beca had taken this girl home. To their home. She’d let her sleep in the bedroom. On their bed. Maria had then proceeded to take pictures, the article says, of her and Beca sleeping in the same bed. And coupling that with heavily edited screenshots of their e-mail correspondence, she had managed to gather enough blackmail material to convince Beca into giving her a better record deal and an extended contract.

But apparently Beca wasn’t about to take that lying down, because she had reached out to a proper celebrity news outlet as early as the next day, or so the article states. She submitted all the blackmail material that Maria had threatened her with, including screenshots of the correct and unedited e-mails.

She’d gotten ahead of the story, and now Maria has no leverage. The article ends with a speculation as to how Emily’s reacting to this news.

She stares and stares at the dark photo of Beca and Maria entering their apartment. She stares until her eyes dry out and it blurs in front of her. She’s practically drowning with questions she can’t formulate into words.

_Why?_

Is the only one that rings clear.

* * *

Beca returns home from work to the smell of fire coming from their apartment.

In a panic, she bursts through the door and immediately heads for the kitchen where their extinguisher is, but there’s no sign of an actual fire aside from the smell and the slight haze of smoke.

She hears a sniffle from the bathroom and she creeps hesitantly towards it. She finds Emily standing over the sink with a lighter, burning the familiar letters from the album that Beca had scrapped together for her marriage proposal.

“Wh-what are you doing? Where are the kids?”

“With my mom.” Emily’s voice is heavy and tired.

“Em. Hey. Can you…please put that down? What are you doing?”

She frowns and shrugs. “Just, you know. Thought I’d get rid of anything you could publish in the future to clear your name of any scandal that comes your way.” She winks without smiling, and Beca feels sick. “Just in case.”

“E-Emily. Okay. Just…hang on. Stop, please.”

“Why? You don’t want me editing these to make it look like we were in an honest and loving relationship, do you?”

“Wait, you don’t underst —”

“No, _you_ don’t understand!” Emily suddenly screams, whipping the lighter so hard against the wall that it cracks the container. “I _asked_ you to come with me this weekend. I asked you to be with _me_ . _Me_ , Beca! Your _wife_ ! And _this_ is what you do instead?” She snatches up the magazine and shoves it in Beca’s face as if she hadn’t been exposed to that goddamn pap photo enough.

There are burns on Emily’s fingers and Beca lower the magazine and steps closer.

“Don’t.”

Her voice is a sharp slap to Beca’s face, and she freezes.

“Emi —”

“ _No_.”

And Beca shouldn’t feel angry, but Emily’s stonewalling isn’t helping either of them. “You’re not even gonna let me explain myself?”

“Why should I?” Emily scoffs. “We both know you did it because you’re _obsessed_ with protecting your reputation. Because you would sacrifice _our_ public image just to clear your name!” She slaps the magazine down on the floor. “We have _children_ , Beca. We’re not just a quirky celebrity couple who can pull stunts like this anymore.”

“It wasn’t a stunt,” Beca explains patiently. “I was being blackmailed, and she was ready to manipulate the media to make it seem like I was ch—”

“Yes, Beca, you told the _world_ what really happened. I know.”

“Then you know that I didn’t do it to hurt you. Okay? I needed to get ahead of the story so she wouldn’t ruin everything. You of all people know how this industry is, don’t you? One scandal and all the music I’d worked on is tainted by whatever lies they decide to eat u —”

“Your _music_ isn’t the only thing you have to live for!” Emily’s eyes flash dangerously. “You have a _family_ to think about now!”

Beca can’t help but to get defensive, because god _damn_ it if she didn’t claw her way to where she is now for the sake of her family. “I _know_ that, Em. Who do you think I’m doing this for? Why do you think I’m trying to leave behind a musical lega—”

“When will you _learn_ !” Emily shouts the last word so loud that she feels her vocal cords fraying. “They’re your legacy too! _We_ are your _fucking_ legacy!”

Beca’s heart stops at Emily’s words. She’d never heard her wife curse. She’d never seen her so angry. And she has no words left to say, no words that can express her sincere regret, no words that can somehow diffuse this tension.

Emily breaks the silence.

“When the time comes,” she says in an icy voice that sends literal shivers down Beca’s back, “ _you’re_ the one explaining this to the kids.”

And she pushes past Beca and strides into their bedroom before slamming the door closed. She doesn’t come out for the rest of the night.

Beca sleeps on the couch, the smell of smoke still lingering throughout their apartment.

* * *

When she wakes up, Emily is gone, their bed neatly made.

Beca gets up slowly from the couch, her heart a lead weight in her chest.

There’s a note on the kitchen table, a small piece of paper hardly the size of a post-it, with Emily’s neat, slightly cursive writing. _If you thought you were mine_ , it reads, and Beca’s eyes sluggishly take in the singular word printed neatly below the first line.

_Don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
>    
> if you want to die even more here's a bullet fic sequel: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/173807028214/ummmm-its-quiet-uptown-sequel-forgiveness-can-u#notes
> 
>  
> 
> work is single-handedly kicking my ass so I might not get to your prompt until super late but: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	9. phone switcharoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Bemily where they accidentally switch phones and maybe one of them sees messages that show how the other feels about them"

For the record, it’s all Chloe’s fault. But, if asked, the ginger would calmly say that it’s actually all  _ Beca’s _ fault.

Chloe’s the one who plans the dinner and sets the rule.

Beca’s the one who fucks up.

So, in all fairness, it’s both their faults. 

With various classes and work schedules and practice times, it’d been a while since all of the Bellas were free and not completely exhausted at the same time, and Chloe quickly and excitedly calls for a night out before anyone can make outside plans. 

Cynthia Rose suggests they just catch a movie, which is vehemently rejected by Beca. Fat Amy suggests they go clubbing, but Chloe points out that Emily is still a baby. Lilly suggests something but only Ashley hears her words, and she shakes her head violently in response. 

In the end, they just settle for a dinner at the bar and grill downtown so the adults can drink with Emily still present. They dress up a little nicer than usual and order drinks in the price range they wouldn’t usually consider, all feeling somewhat exhilarated from their rare full-team outing. As soon as their drinks come, they all bring their glasses together — Emily with her strawberry lemonade that looks enough like a cocktail for the photo Stacie takes to be Instagram-able — in a cheerful toast. 

“Damn, when’s the last time we were all together outside of practice?” Cynthia Rose asks once they finish ordering their food. 

“Yeah, I miss you guys,” Stacie says with a pout. “My pre-grad classes are kicking my ass and you all give me  _ major _ fomo with your Snaps and Insta posts every time you go out. Speaking of which…” She smirks and starts editing the photo she took of all of their glasses clinking together. 

“Hey, wait a minute,” Chloe says, looking around the table. Everyone except for her, Emily, Jessica, and Flo are on their phones, eyes fixated on their screens. “No. No, no. Guys, really? Come on.” She taps sharply on the table and repeats a stern “Hey. Hey.  _ Hey, _ ” until she has everyone’s eyes on her. “No, we’re not doing this tonight. Phones in the middle of the table. Now.” 

She demonstrates by taking out her own phone and plopping it in the middle of the table. 

With low grumbles of complaint, the other Bellas reluctantly follow suit, stacking them one on top of the other. 

“One minute,” Beca says, racing to finish an e-mail for her internship.  

“Becs.” Chloe’s tone is serious in that don’t-you-dare-mess-with-my-fun-time kind of way, and Beca sighs and puts her phone down on the pile. 

Chloe might have the right idea, but there’s definitely a better solution than to stack ten phones of various shapes and sizes on top of each other. As soon as their bread basket and appetizers arrive and everything starts shifting around on the table to make room for the plates, the phone tower is knocked down not once, not twice, but  _ three _ times before Fat Amy gets fed up with it and splits them into two piles of five. 

“Yeah that makes more sense,” Stacie says. 

And Beca was fine with the forced night out with the Bellas…until her phone is taken away. It’s not necessarily that she can’t live without it, since she’d mostly faded out of her social media phase with all the work that had been keeping her busy this year. But her hands feel too empty and the unfinished e-mail bugs her like a mother effer and now everyone’s  _ talking _ to each other and she just wants to sit back and relax and  _ not _ socialize. 

Her looks idly around the table, watching each Bella interact with another as they’re forced off their phones and into face-to-face conversations. Flo and Jessica are trying to explain the aesthetics of candles to Ashley. Chloe and Stacie are in a deep debate about the science of social media addiction. Beca’s too far from the others to really hear what they’re talking about.

She watches Emily, sitting diagonally across the table from her, talking to Cynthia Rose about something and giggling profusely over whatever the older girl is telling her. The freshman had straightened her hair, maybe just for this impromptu dinner, and it flows gently around her shoulders every time she moves her head. Her smile is bright and dazzling in the dim lighting of the restaurant, and even though Beca can’t pick up on the conversation, Emily’s laugh floats down the table like a haunting melody. 

Beca blinks.

Hard.

She tears her gaze away from Emily and tries to join in on Chloe and Stacie’s conversation, but she doesn’t have much to contribute and her eyes start to wander back to the freshman. Beca’s not sure what it is, but there’s just something about the newest Bella that draws her attention. 

Maybe it’s…

_ Nope. Don’t go there. Weeeee are nnnnnot going there. No, sir.  _

A crush.

_ Goddamnit, Beca _ .

Or maybe it’s not.

_ Don’t do this to yourself. Not tonight. Not here. _

And she wishes she could just grab her phone and finish her goddamn e-mail so she can distract herself, but Chloe probably senses her antsiness and fixes her in a  _ don’t do it, bitch  _ glare. As soon as the food comes, Beca digs in full-force, thankful that she’d ordered a hefty burger that keeps her hands and eyes occupied. Someone comments on her voracious eating mannerisms and the tables erupts into laughter, and Beca doesn’t understand why, why,  _ why _ she picks out Emily’s laugh from the rest. She ignores the comment and continues annihilating her burger, trying to determine  _ why the hell _ she’s so intrigued with with the freshman.

_ It’s because you’re just sick of all the other bitches, _ Beca tries to reason.  _ It’s because Emily’s new and she’s a refreshing presence at the table.  _

Sure. That’s what it is. Let’s go with that. 

For the rest of the dinner, Beca deliberately keeps her eyes off of Emily and tries her best to close her ear to any sounds she makes. It works for the most part, but she might have overinvested herself in Jessica’s story about her Chem lab partner, so she collects a handful of raised eyebrows and confused glances.

She could  _ not _ get back to the Bella house fast enough. 

Beca beelines straight for her bed as soon as they’re home, throwing herself face down in her pillows and letting out a long, tired groan. The dinner was too much social interaction. She needs a healthy balance of real-people conversations and phone-scrolling at any social gathering, and giving up control of her phone for an entire meal was nothing short of torture.

Especially with such an unexpected but all-encompassing distraction. 

Her phone suddenly buzzes and Beca flinches at the unfamiliar sound. She rarely ever puts her phone on vibrate, especially if she’s out of class, and there shouldn’t be any reason why it’s not giving off it’s usual  _ ding! _ for notifications. Frowning, she turns it over to see that it’s a text from Chloe.

**Chloe:** _All right, yeah I think I see what you mean now_

And Beca stares in utter confusion at the message before realizing with a shock that her lockscreen background…isn’t  _ her _ lockscreen background. She frantically puts in her passcode only to have it buzz angrily at her for an incorrect entry. 

She’d taken someone else’s phone. 

There’s another buzz, this time for another text, and Beca knows she shouldn’t look but how can she  _ not _ when the screen is lighting up and Chloe’s name is popping up again.

**Chloe:** _ I mean, I don’t want to jump the gun or anything _

**Chloe:** _So like, you should just talk to her. It might be intimidating but she’s actually really…_

The notification cuts off there and Beca is left hanging. 

  
Talk to who? Who’s actually really…what? 

Who is Chloe talking to? 

**Chloe:** _But the way she looks at you is…different_

**Chloe:** _ I don’t even think I’ve seen her look at Jesse that way _

Beca stares at the last message, heart lurching. Jesse? The only person who would look at Jesse in any way is — or  _ was _ since they broke up last year — … _ her. _ Chloe’s talking about  _ her _ . But to  _ who _ , damnit?

She repeatedly presses the home button to keep the lockscreen lit, staring at the message notifications and the generic background of a beach sunset, trying to figure out whose phone this is. It’s got the same generic clear case as Beca’s. It’s not Chloe’s. Fat Amy, Cynthia Rose, and Ashley all have iPhones. Stacie’s neon green case is recognizable from the moon. Lilly doesn’t have a case on her phone, which causes literally everyone anxiety every time they see it. So it could be Jessica, Emily, or Flo. 

And she thinks back to the dinner and who she could possibly have looked at in such a way. The answer comes almost immediately and her heart jumps into her throat. 

“Chloe!” she screams, jumping from her bed and scrambling down the stairs. “Chloe! Chloe, what the hell?”

Beca bursts into Chloe’s room without knocking, and the redhead scoots away from her desk, startled. “Beca, what —?”

“Who’re you texting?”

“What? Oh, my god, what’s this about? Are you okay?”

“Who. Are. You.” She feels her heart rate accelerating dangerously, and she takes a deep breath before whispering the last word. “Texting.”

Chloe crosses her arms defensively and narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I have Emily’s phone.” 

And her question is properly answered by the look on Chloe’s face. “Oh,” is all she says. 

“ _ What _ are you two talking about?  _ Why _ are you talking about me? Is this about tonight? The dinner?”

“You just answered your questions with your own questions.” 

“Chloe, I swear to god —”

“Why don’t you just….” Choe gets up slowly from her chair and saunters over to Beca while typing something on her phone. “Talk to her about it?” She shows Beca her phone screen, revealing the texts she’d just sent to Beca’s phone.

**Chloe:** _ Hey Em! I think the phone you took is actually Beca’s! _

**Chloe:** _ She’s coming over right now to come and get it _

“What?  _ What? _ Why?”

“Don’t you want your phone back?” Chloe asks, puzzled. 

“Y-yeah, but…can’t like. Can’t  _ you _ maybe —?”

“Nope!” She puts her hands on Beca’s shoulder and gently pushes her backwards until the tiny girl is out of her doorway. “Good luck!” And she closes her door. 

Beca groans and thunks her forehead against the wood. 

“Just  _ talk _ to her, Becs!” Chloe’s voice floats through the door. 

“About what?” she mutters. “I don’t know what the hell is going on.” But that’s a goddamn lie because the very first text she saw from Chloe —  _ I see what you mean now  _ — implies that this isn’t the first conversation they’d had about her, and Beca gets the feeling that the weird intrigue she’d felt towards Emily at dinner might be…mutual.

“You’ll see.” 

And it’s probably the teasing sing-song tone of Chloe’s reply that more or less confirms it. Beca might be dense when it comes to her own feelings, but she sure as hell can pick up on glaringly obvious hints like  _ that _ . 

With a sigh, she slips her shoes back on and heads out the door towards the freshman dorms. Facing her emotions is not something she was ever good at, and the prospect of  _ talking _ about them sends goosebumps racing up her arms. 

But this is Emily. Sweet, soft, adorable Emily. They can work something out, right? 

She needs her phone back, in any case. 

At the  _ very least _ , she’ll have her phone back.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> here's another one with a bullet fic sequel: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/173868799129/listen-i-know-yall-ask-for-sequels-to-these#notes
> 
> you know the drill: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	10. the morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "soft bemily morning after mini fic?"

The first thing Emily hears when she wakes up is the rain. It’s a distant and gentle pattering sound against her window, soothing and lulling her back to sleep.

The second thing she hears is the music, and it tugs her back towards consciousness to counter the sound of the rain.

She opens her eyes blearily to semi-dark room, blinking heavily at the ceiling.

But then the memories of last night come thundering down and her eyes fly open. The Trebles party. Stepping outside to get some air. Finding Beca alone on the lawn, looking up at the stars. Getting into an unexpectedly deep conversation. Admitting her embarrassing crush on the senior in a moment of tipsy bravery. Not expecting anything in return.

Getting _everything_ in return.

Her hand automatically flies to the other side of her bed, and she tries not to let her heart sink too low when it only finds empty space and wrinkled sheets. Emily should know better than to expect her to stay. The Bellas were always saying how she doesn’t handle romance and emotional situations too well. So Emily should know better.

But when she rolls over to look for the source of the soft music, her dry lips crack into a smile.

Beca’s sitting at Emily’s portable piano keyboard, playing a slow and melodic tune that the younger girl doesn’t recognize. She can only see a sliver of Beca’s face from the bed, but she stares, mesmerized, at that sliver as Beca plays the beautiful song. There’s the slightest smile on her lips, and Emily can’t look away.

This is the last thing she’d expected to wake up to when they fell asleep last night. Everything had happened so fast and so intensely; Emily doesn’t even remember making it back to her room, probably because they had started making out right there on the Trebles’ lawn and the rest was honestly a blur. There are, of course, parts that she _does_ remember, and her cheeks flush red at the memories of certain sounds and touches and words that were exchanged between them.

Emily didn’t think Beca would still be here when she woke up.

She certainly didn’t think Beca would be awake at — she checks her phone — eight in the morning, wearing Emily’s oversized T-shirt that goes well past her thighs and playing around on her beat-up keyboard.

The music abruptly stops, giving way to the pitter patter of rain. Beca lets out a bare whisper of a curse, evidently having forgotten how the rest of the song goes. She tries a few times to pick up where she stopped, but she can’t seem to figure out the next few bars.

Emily thinks it’s adorable and beautiful. “Hi,” she croaks out.

Beca turns to her and smiles. “Hey. Morning.”

“What song is that?”

Beca raises an eyebrow and tilts her head. “You’ve never heard of _Les Mis_? The musical?”

“Oh. I have, but I never watched it…or heard the soundtrack.” Her heart almost stops when Beca smiles warmly and rises from the keyboard, pushing in the chair before padding quietly to the bed. Emily scoots and pulls the covers back over them as Beca crawls in next to her.

“It’s called ‘On My Own.’ The one song I sort of remember how to play from when I was a kid.”

“It was beautiful,” Emily tells her.

“Thanks.”

She’d expected things to be awkward, for them to be tiptoeing around each other for the next few days at practice. Or for Beca to just pretend like it never happened. At the very least for them to not see each other the morning after.

But Beca’s settling back into bed next to Emily like they do this every morning, comfortably snuggling into the freshman’s arms. “Sorry I played on your keyboard without asking,” she mumbles, cheek resting on Emily’s shoulder. Her hand rests casually on Emily’s chest, fingers just barely grazing her collarbone, and she tries not to think too hard about it. “I didn’t want to wake you. But I just…wanted to play something. Sort out my thoughts.”

Emily hums in response. “What kind of thoughts?” she asks sleepily, feeling Beca’s forehead against her jawline. Without thinking, she instinctively turns to place a soft kiss on Beca’s hairline. Her heart skips painfully when she realizes what she’d done, but the senior just breathes out a laugh.

“You know. Just…thoughts. The Bellas. Worlds. DSM.” She pauses. “Us. You. Last night.” Emily remembers it all again with vivid clarity, and her cheeks burn. “Whoa, dude. Your heart rate just like…actually accelerated,” Beca observes with a laugh.

 _Oh, lord, why am I so embarrassing?_ “We were, uh. Pretty drunk, huh?” Emily says nervously, even though she knows very well that neither of them were drunk at all.

“We had one drink each, Em,” Beca snorts. “Unless you’re telling me that one shot of Bacardi had you black-out drunk.”

“N-no,” she admits.

“Good. Because I kinda don’t want either of us to forget last night.”

She wiggles up on the pillow so she’s level with Emily, and before she can finish her thought of _oh, boy she’s close_ , Beca’s leaning in to kiss her. Emily melts under the softness of Beca’s lips and the way she pulls at the back of Emily’s neck like she can’t get enough. She hates that her lips are so chapped and dry while Beca’s are so perfect and warm, but the senior doesn’t seem to mind one bit as she gently takes Emily’s bottom lip in between her own.

 _Is this really happening? Am I just dreaming? Oh, please don’t let this be a dream_.

And she knows it’s _definitely_ not a dream when Beca lets out a soft moan and brushes her tongue along Emily’s lips, because there’s absolutely _no way_ her subconscious could mimic that kind of sensation. Her mouth parts slightly with surprise, and Beca surges forward to take full advantage of that opening.

Emily stops breathing when their tongues meet, and there’s so _much_ of Beca but also _not enough_ of Beca and Emily shifts so practically every inch of their bodies are pressed together. And she remembers doing this last night under the darkness of the night, but there were less clothes involved then.

Beca seems to be remembering the same thing, because she smiles into the searing kiss and lifts her leg a little to hook it around Emily’s thigh, pulling them flush against each other. Her hand sneaks under Emily’s shirt, and the younger girl arches her back with a sharp inhale as Beca trails her fingers lightly up her spine. In retaliation, Emily slips her hand under Beca’s leg and hitches it higher so it’s hooked around her hip, and she slides her hand higher and higher up the the smaller girl’s thigh.

But then Emily freezes and breaks the kiss when her hand reaches Beca’s hip and finds nothing there. “O-oh. You’re not…um. N-not…” _Wearing anything_ is how she wants to finish the observation, but it sounds stupid and obvious and not worth spelling out.

Beca tucks her head under Emily’s and smiles against her neck. “No, I’m not,” she agrees.

“Th-that’s…right. Okay.”

“You’re the one who took it off.”

“Oh, my…y-yeah. I remember”

“Do you?” Beca teases, pressing her lips right above Emily’s collarbone. She chuckles when the younger girl shudders at her touch and lets out a shaky breath. “You don’t need me to remind you?”

Despite how wildly her heart is beating, Emily wants to counter Beca’s remark with an equally sly innuendo, but the goodie-two-shoes part of her tugs at her conscience.

“We have. Um. Practice. In about an hour,” she says stupidly.

Beca continues trailing kisses — infuriatingly soft, tingling kisses — up the length of Emily’s neck. “We can afford to skip one practice,” she mumbles.

“Are you s-sure?” Emily stutters as Beca nips lightly over her pulse point. “Won’t Chloe get mad?”

They both know Chloe would indeed be mad, but Beca just shrugs. “Well, I’m also captain so technically I can do whatever I want.” She grins at Emily and leans in to whisper in her ear. “Or _who_ ever I want.”

It’s the last thing Emily expects to hear from Beca, especially in _that_ tone and voice in her _ear_. But she thinks — as she leans in for another kiss and tugs the oversized shirt off of Beca — she should just stop limiting her expectations when it comes to her favorite senior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't be mad if I don't respond to your prompts in a timely manner: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	11. morning after prequel/jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a combination of "prequel to morning after fic" and "jealous bemily" (because I'm lazy af)

It’s been one hell of a day for Emily Junk.

It was one of those days where everything happens all at once, where all the deadlines and exams and group meetings happened within 24 hours as if all of her professors had collaborated to make this the worst day in Emily’s life. Well, technically, she’d pulled an all-nighter to study for the two exams, so the day actually started sometime around 8pm last night.

She’s exhausted and incredibly sleep deprived, not to mention she hasn’t eaten a proper meal for a few days, and all she wants to do after Bella’s practice is curl up on the floor and sleep for a thousand years.

But then Stacie’s dragging her back to the Bella house with the rest of the group so they can start pregaming for Jesse’s birthday party with the Trebles, and before she can comprehend what the heck is happening, they’re all toasting and knocking back shots of tequila and Emily just follows suit because she’s too tired to think for herself.

Her body almost immediately rejects the alcohol, and she races to the bathroom and throws it right back up. When she leaves the bathroom after cleaning herself up, Emily almost runs into the Bellas crowding around the door. 

“You all right there, Legacy?” Cynthia Rose asks, handing her a glass of water. Emily blushes under all the attention, embarrassed beyond belief.

“Y-yeah. Sorry, guys.”

“Did you drink the worm?” Flo asks, and Emily’s stomach rolls at the thought of something crawling around in there.

“ _No_. No, no. There’s no worm,” Chloe says quickly, blocking Flo’s face with her hand. “No worm.”

“I-I just haven’t eaten today,” Emily says, unable to meet everyone’s concerned gaze. “I just had two exams and a project due today. And a paper. And a group meeting. And then Bella’s practice.”

Fat Amy rolls her eyes. “See, I _told_ you guys we should leave her alone so she can get some rest.”

“Oh, shut up, Ames,” Beca says in a tone that clearly says that the blonde had suggested no such thing.

“You said to drag her here if it kills her,” Stacie adds.

“Semantics,” Fat Amy waves airily.

“Here, let’s get you some food,” Chloe says, taking Emily’s hand and leading her back to the kitchen. The rest of the Bellas follow like a herd of sheep and resume their pregame while Chloe pulls ingredients out of the fridge for a sandwich. Emily takes a seat at the counter, still extremely embarrassed about getting sick after one little shot.

“Hit me up with one, too, Chlo.” Beca slides into the seat next to Emily and taps the counter like she’s ordering a beer at the bar. Emily expects the ginger to roll her eyes or tell Beca to make her own goddamn sandwich, but Chloe just shakes her head endearingly.  
“Extra cheese?”

“And pickles on the side.” Beca turns to Emily. “You feeling okay?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry, that was really lame, wasn’t it?” she says self-consciously, but Beca just scoffs.

“If that were me I wouldn’t have even made it to the bathroom.”

Chloe slides their sandwiches over and gives Emily a pat on the head before joining the others for another round of shots. With the two co-captains watching over her, Emily feels a lot better about making a fool of herself. Actually, she feels a lot better about the whole night in general.

“Damn, this a _sandwich_ ,” Beca says, her words muffled through her full mouth. Emily agrees with an enthusiastic nod, her mouth also full. “One time,” the senior starts, but thinks better of it and swallows her bite before continuing, “back in our sophomore year, I had _one_ shot of Everclear mixed with diet Coke and I literally blew chunks on the _spot_ after I finished it. Thank god we were outside.”

Emily frowns at the image. “But isn’t Everclear like, super strong?”

“Yeah, but I had a full night’s rest and a gigantic meal beforehand. _And_ it wasn’t even a straight shot. So you’re a little more commendable.”

“Well,” Emily laughs, “they say that mixing alcohol with diet beverages makes it all the more stronger.”

Beca pauses, mid-bite. “Well, shit.”

Emily smiles into her sandwich as Cynthia Rose chimes in with a “what, you didn’t _know_ that, Mitchell?” and Beca fires back with a sharp retort, appreciating everyone’s efforts to make her feel comfortable and not like a total newbie freshman who couldn’t hold down one drink.

Her and Beca fall into an easy conversation as they scarf down their sandwiches, talking about school and classes and the Bellas and Worlds, and despite the horrible day and the horrible start to the night, Emily is glad she came — or rather, was _dragged_ — to the Bella house. Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have eaten before going straight to bed, and she _definitely_ wouldn’t have been able to talk to Beca like this.

And a small part of her is glad she’d gotten sick now that the tiny senior is worrying over and talking to her. To be fair, she’s housing an embarrassing one-sided admiration-based crush on Beca, so, like, she’ll take what she can get at this point.

“Gather up your tits and sandwiches, aca-bitches!” Stacie calls, “We’re heading out!”

In a rush, Emily swallows the rest of her sandwich and joins everyone at the door. Beca just brings the whole plate out with her.

“Is it weird?” Emily asks as they make their way over to the Treble’s house. “Like, going to your ex’s birthday party?” She doesn’t know what makes her ask that, but she takes it as a good sign that Beca chuckles through her mouthful.

“We’re totes good.” She shoots Emily a thumbs-up while she finishes up her bite. “Our break-up was like, super mutual. Scarily mutual.”

“Oh, okay. So you were both mature about it,” Emily nods.

“More like, they were too romantically immature to continue dating each other,” Stacie comments as she passes by, earning a middle finger from Beca. “Seriously, Em. If you ever saw them out on a date, you’d think they’re best buddies. Or siblings.”

“Oh, gross, dude.” Beca makes a face and shoves Stacie away. “Thanks for the therapy topic.” Stacie skips away, giggling, and Emily can’t help but to join. “Anyway, we’re fine. You don’t have to worry about it,” she says, shooting Emily a wink.

And Emily has no idea what it means, but she’s thankful it’s dark out so her blush won’t show.

The party is in full swing when the Bellas arrive. Jesse greets them with a wordless scream, prolonged enough to grab everyone’s attention and have a few people join in for absolutely no reason. He quickly goes around and hugs each of them, accepting their well wishes and birthday punches with a smile.

“Glad you guys could make it! Is that my present?” he asks, looking at Beca’s plate. There’s still a small portion of her sandwich left, along with a lonely looking pickle.

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” she replies, handing him the plate.

“Cool, cool. You ladies are free to grab anything you want, you know where the kitchen is, etc. etc.”

“You’re a stellar host, you know that?” Beca laughs, shoving past him. “Come on, nerds. We’re taking a shot with the birthday boy.”

Everyone cheers and follows Beca to the kitchen, where bottles upon bottles are lined up on the sticky table. Emily nervously accepts a plastic shot glass full of an unknown alcohol.

“All right, kiddo,” Stacie says, “It’s just rum, can you do it?”

And everyone’s looking at her again and there’s no _way_ she could say no, so Emily just nods and throws back the shot with everyone else. It doesn’t make her stomach flip over as much as the tequila had, and Chloe’s sandwich had filled her up pretty well.

“Good?” Beca asks, concerned. Emily gives her a thumbs-up.

“Oh, Emily!” Jesse says, suddenly pointing at her. “I’m gonna borrow you for a second. Can I borrow her for a second?” He turns to the rest of the Bellas as if they’re all her parents. They exchange a confused glance but ultimately shrug.

“Sure?” someone says, and Jesse’s doing a little _all riiiight_ fist pump and throwing his arm around Emily, leading her out of the kitchen.

“So I don’t think you’ve properly met all of the Trebles,” Jesse says, navigating them through the packed living room. “And since _you_ are going to be taking over captainship of the Bellas next year —” Emily’s stomach rolls again but for an entirely different reason “— it’d be good to know you fellow aca-nerds. And future competition.”

“O-oh. Yeah, that’s true.”

And Emily kind of wants to stay with the Bellas, with Beca, and hang with the girls more since the parties they can all attend together are now numbered. But Jesse’s right and she should at the very least be introduced to the other Trebles, so she lets him lead her around the house.

Five of them are scattered throughout the house, and Jesse picks them out easily and drags them into a handshake with Emily. One of them is in the pool, fully clothed and fetching the ping pong ball that had fallen in. Two of them are MIA, and Jesse eventually gives up trying to find them.

“And you know Benji, but he’s home celebrating his mom’s birthday. We were born on the same day!”

“Different years, I’m guessing?” Emily jokes, and she immediately wishes she could take it back because _what the heck Emily that wasn’t even funny_. But Jesse laughs good-naturedly and suddenly gives a shout as he spots another Treble on the opposite side of the room.

She ends up getting pulled into a game of beer pong, and at first she’s reluctant and just wants go get back to the Bellas, but then she’s getting really into the game and totally winning with Jesse by her side and they’re both high-fiving and screaming at every cup they make.

Then they’re playing a new game with a different pair of opponents, and they’re _killing_ it again. Then they win the second game and Jesse’s picking up Emily in a fireman’s carry — which is impressive considering they’re roughly the same height — and he’s screaming and she’s laughing and they’re both declaring themselves aca-pong champions and high-fiving anyone who would humor them.

Jesse spots the last Treblemaker to be introduced and drops Emily to the ground so they can properly meet.

“Damn, Swanson. You recruiting females for the Trebles now?” Stacie drawls as she sidles up to Emily and pulls her away from Jesse and the Treble. “Gonna have to ask you to keep your paws off of Emily, kay? She’s _ours_.”

“Hey, whoa. No one’s recruiting anyone tonight,” Jesse says, hands raised in surrender. “No worries, I’ve kept her for long enough, so you’re welcome to take her back.” He holds up his hand for one more high-five from Emily. “I should go find Beca anyway. Still have her plate.”

“No such luck, cowboy. She’s been MIA for a while.” Stacie shrugs and turns to Emily. “Wanna join us for another drink? I can mix you up something light, if you want.”

“Uhhhhhh,” Emily blanks. The mention of Beca had thrown her off a little, considering that she’d forgotten just how much she’d wanted to spend the night with the senior. And now hearing that she’s MIA, Emily feels a little guilty for leaving the Bellas, even for the short amount of time she was with Jesse.

“Em?”

“I’m…just gonna get some air. Maybe later, though.”  

“Mmk, let me know.” Stacie winks and disappears into the crowd, and Emily makes her way through the living room and out the door. The noise doesn’t decrease much even when she closes the door behind her, and she wonders how many complaints they get from their neighbors. She scans the dark and quiet lawn, reveling in the fresh air.

And lo and behold, she finds exactly who she’s looking for.

Beca’s sitting alone in the middle of the grass, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the sky. She looks pensive and peaceful, and Emily debates going back inside so she doesn’t disturb her. But something pulls at her to go talk to the senior, and she lets her feet carry her across the grass without resisting.

Beca turns at the sound of her footsteps. “Hey,” she says, smiling.

“Hi. Uh. Can I join you?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

Emily plops down on the grass next to Beca, hugging her knees. “It’s a nice night,” she comments, squeezing her eyes shut at the boring and obvious statement. “I-I mean. To like…you know. Sit outside. Of a…party.”

She hears the smile in Beca’s voice. “Agreed.”

They sit in silence for a while, Beca gazing up at the stars, eyes twinkling with their reflection, and Emily gazing out into the lake, wondering if it ever gets cold enough for it to freeze over so the Bellas and Trebles can walk straight across it.

“How is it going in there?” Beca asks, breaking the silence first. Her eyes never leave the sky, but her gaze isn’t a million miles away anymore.

“Getting pretty rowdy,” Emily shrugs, just as the song changes and a chorus of cheers echo into the night air. “As you can hear.”

“Too much for you?” the senior asks with a chuckle, shaking her head.

“Just wanted some air.” She glances at Beca. “Jesse’s looking for you.”

She hums in response.

“So were the Bellas.”

She nods.

“And, uh. So was I.”

Beca smiles, then. And Emily doesn’t know why she reacted positively when she mentioned herself, but it makes her heart skip more than a few beats.

“I was here,” Beca says simply.

“For how long?”

“Not long.”

“Not in the mood to party?”

Beca shrugs. “Just wanted some air, like you. And a place to think.”

Emily frowns. “To think? About what?”

“Stuff.”

Getting straight answers from Beca is like pulling teeth. But then Emily sees the tiny grin on Beca’s face that indicates that the senior is being deliberately evasive, so she playfully bumps her shoulder against hers. Beca bumps right back.

“What kind of stuff?” she prompts.

“I dunno. Deep shit. Sentimental shit. Just…shit.”

“Ohh sentimental? Deep?” Emily asks, wiggling excitedly.

Beca shakes her head with a laugh. “You nerd. I was just…thinking about the Bellas. And how close we are to the end.”

“Ah, right.” Emily nods with understanding.

“We’ve been to like, a thousand parties…like more than I ever wanted to in my life. But now that we’re counting down to our last few months,” she sighs and smiles somewhat ruefully. “It’s kinda hitting me. Hitting all of us. That we’re not gonna be able to enjoy the stupid quirks that come with these stupid house parties for much longer.”

“You’re saying you’re gonna miss these chaotic parties?”

“Surprisingly, yeah.”

“Huh,” Emily says, leaning back on her hands. “Didn’t expect to hear that from the aloof Beca Mitchell.”

The senior sniffs. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll probably never sincerely admit this to them, but.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m really gonna miss spending time with everyone. Not even just the Bellas, but all those idiots in there.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “Even Bumper?”

Beca makes a face. “All those idiots except him.”

And it’s not hard for Emily to empathize; she might only be a freshman in college, but less than a year ago, she was a senior too. A high school senior, sure, but still a senior. She’d laughed and cried and made countless memories with her group of friends, and Emily imagines Beca and the Bellas are going through the same loneliness she’d felt just last June.

Maybe multiplied a few hundred times, since these girls actually _lived_ together for four years.

But then Emily thinks about Beca’s sentiments and how they don’t match up with her current location.

“So…why are you out here, Beca?” And she didn’t think she’d catch the senior off guard with such a simple question, but Beca freezes. “I-I mean. Unless it’s personal. I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought…you said that you want to cherish every moment you have left with the Bellas.”

“I did _not_ say those sappy-ass words,” Beca says defensively.

“Why are you out here?” Emily repeats the question with a smile.

“You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“Promise I won’t.”

“But you will.”

“Beca. Come on.”

“You sure you won’t laugh?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay. Well, uh.” She hesitates but continues after a deep breath. “If I have to put it into simple words and make myself look like a _total_ idiot,” Beca says, rolling her eyes, “I guess because…of jealousy.”

Which is like, totally not what Emily expects. “Jealousy?”

“Yeah,” she nods, looking embarrassed to be admitting this. “You and Jesse.”

Emily’s stomach bottoms out. “Oh,” is all she can say. _Crap_ is all she can think.

She’d been so caught up in the heat of the moment, she’d not only forgotten about the Bellas, but she’d forgotten Jesse was Beca’s ex. And she was with him for the majority of the party, hanging out and playing games and high-fiving and being carried and…

“I’m…oh, stars, Beca. I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I got carried away, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, I promise. He was just…Jesse was just showing me around, and introducing me to the Trebles, and playing beer pong, and we…we…” Emily sighs and buries her face in her hands, unable to believe how stupid she’d been. “I know we were being too friendly, and it was super rude of me to let that happen. Especially after I asked you about…you know, attending your ex’s party and whatnot. I’m sorry.”   

“No, oh my god. No. _God_ , no. Stop saying sorry.” Beca waves away the apologies like it’s a swarm of gnats. “You’re not…I wasn’t jealous of _you_ ,” she mutters. “I…was…uh. Jealous of him.”  

Emily’s head shoots up out from her hands, and she turns to Beca in pure shock. “ _What?_ ”

Beca looks like she’s turning red, but Emily can’t be sure through the darkness. “You know, like him…being all buddy-buddy with you. Showing you a fun time with the Trebles — _god_ that sounds so wrong but you know what I mean. And like…being…touchy with you…and…”  

“Th-…y-… _that_ made you jealous?” she stutters, her mind rapidly filling with question marks. And it’s a shock to Emily, who’s never really received much affection from Beca, to hear that the senior saw her buddying up with her ex-boyfriend and got jealous of _him_. Against her better judgement, she can’t help but to ask, “Wh-why?”

“You _really_ can’t guess why?” Beca asks, grimacing.

Emily can’t even comprehend how they got to this point. “Okay, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying…” And she knows she can’t chalk it up to drunkenness or even tipsiness because she’s only had one shot of cheap rum that barely affected her, but she fully leans back on that excuse for her next words. “I…I’ve been crushing on you since like. The first time I met you. Right here at this house, actually.”

Beca nods thoughtfully for a second before smiling at Emily. “Yeah. Same.”

“ _Serious_ ly?”

“Seriously.”

There’s no trace of sarcasm or humor or lie or _anything_ but sincerity in Beca’s eyes. “Wow.” Is the only word she can formulate in her frantic brain.

“Okay, I know we’re like. Sisters or whatever, but uh.” Beca swallows and clears her throat. “Would it be…would it be weird if I like, kissed you right now?”

Emily can’t breathe. She can’t remember how to breathe. She doesn’t even know if she _should_ breathe. “A-are you sure?” she asks quietly, her own heartbeat thundering loud enough to drown out her question. Without meaning to, her eyes flicker down to Beca’s lips. They pull up into a smile when the older girl sees where Emily’s looking.  

“I’ve _been_ sure, dude,” Beca confirms, “and seeing you with Jesse kind of…made me want you more.”

There’s something about the way she says _want_ that has Emily’s skin erupting in goosebumps. And before she can think too much about what she’s doing, Emily leans in, gently pulling at Beca by collar of her shirt, and presses their lips together.

 _Holy crap, I’m kissing Beca Mitchell_. The _Beca Mitchell_. _How? How is this real?_ Is _this real?_

And to say that Beca responds enthusiastically would be a massive understatement.

Where Emily’s movements were swift but delicate, the tiny girl surges forward as soon as their lips make contact, practically gluing them together by the mouth. She pulls Emily even closer by the back of her neck and grabs a fistful of her shirt in the other hand like she can’t get enough, and Emily feels light-headed when the senior moans into the kiss. Beca’s fingers trace small, soft circles on the nape of Emily’s neck, sending shivers down her back.

This definitely not the kind of kiss Emily had expected, but she’s not about to stop to point that out lest she break the spell and end this spontaneous make-out session. Then _oh my god, oh my god, holy crap_ their tongues are touching and Beca’s hands are tugging hard at Emily’s shirt and the younger girl gets the message and turns to face Beca so they can kiss properly. But Beca keeps pulling and pulling until Emily’s on top of her, straddling her lap, and she smiles at the freshman’s muffled squeak.

And Emily can’t take anymore because her heart is beating so hard that she thinks it’s ready to explode, and she pulls back for a moment, astounded that any of this is actually happening; but Beca clearly hasn’t had enough. She moves her mouth to Emily’s jawline and down her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses that leave behind tingling white-hot marks, and all Emily can do is tangle her hands in Beca’s hair and bite down hard on her lip so she doesn’t make too much noise.

 _God_ it feels _so good_ and Emily wants _more_ but she also doesn’t know how much more she can handle before she explodes. Unable to hold back, she rolls her hips, just once, and Beca’s breath audibly hitches. “F-fuck,” she whispers, lips faltering against Emily’s skin. “You can’t… _do_ that,” she ends lamely.  

Which is completely unfair for her to say with everything she’s doing to Emily.

“Beca…”

“Mmm?” she hums, gliding her lips along Emily’s exposed collarbone and smiling when the freshman lets out a quickly-stifled gasp.

“W-we’re…in a _very_ public place.”

“It’s dark,” Beca mumbles distractedly.

“Y-yeah, but what if someone —”

Emily doesn’t even get to finish that statement before they hear the door open. They jump apart violently, Emily going as far as to spring to her feet to back away quickly from Beca, but it’s just a Treble dumping the water from the ice bucket outside. It doesn’t even look like he sees them before he retreats back to the party.

They watch the door for a few more tense seconds before Beca turns slowly back to Emily. The senior’s cheeks are _definitely_ red now, and Emily’s sure that her own face is just as flushed.

“Uh. W-…uh. Um.”

 _Wow, smooth, Emily_.

“Shit,” Beca curses, running a hand over her face. “That…holy shit.” And Emily nods furiously in agreement. She sinks back to the ground, not trusting herself to sit anywhere near Beca with _those_ urges still inside of her.

“You asked if you could kiss me,” Emily mumbles. “Not if you could…do _that_.”  

There’s an unreadable expression on Beca’s face. “Sorry,” she breathes, straightening her hair.

Emily shoots her a skeptical look. “No, you’re not.”

She smirks. “No, I’m not,” she agrees. She glances back at the house before fixing Emily in a steady gaze. “Is it weird that I don’t want to stop?”

“No,” Emily responds, too quick, too eager. “I-I mean…” she trails off when Beca smiles and edges closer. Dangerously close. “Maybe not here. Maybe somewhere with like, privacy?”  

Beca pauses, her face inches away from Emily’s. “True. But not the Bella house. Those walls are thin as fuck.”

And Emily blushes _hard_ at the implications of why they would need thicker walls. “M-my roommate’s out of town for the weekend,” she suggests, shivering violently with anticipation when Beca shoots her a mischievous grin and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Your room it is, then.”

So it’s happening. It’s really happening.

This is the _last_ ending Emily expected to her awful, _awful_ day, and she feels like she’s watching herself outside of her own body as Beca helps her to her feet and leans in for a heart-stopping peck on the lips.

She hesitates at the look on Emily’s face. “Unless you don’t…I mean. We don’t have to, dude.”  

“No!” Emily shouts a little too loud. “No, no. It’s not that, I swear. Sorry, it’s just…” she trails off with a nervous laugh. “This is all happening _so_ fast and I just…can’t believe it’s happening at all.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Beca says, and the honesty and shyness in her voice sends a wave of relief through Emily.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. Yeah, yeah, okay,” Emily rants, nodding rapidly. “My room, then. And uh. Maybe… you can show me how jealous you were,” she teases, relishing in the way Beca splutters and blushes.

“F-fine. You asked for it, Legacy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> Smut? I don't know Her
> 
> prompts at http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	12. touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "short fic about bemily + how they touch each other? "
> 
> fun fact: this whole thing was written in like thirty minutes on the Google Docs app on my phone with absolutely no editing so it will be 100% trash
> 
> fun fact #2: my writing is 99% dialogue-based and this has absolutely none so it's...even more trash

It’s actually impressive that their relationship goes under the radar for so long, especially considering how nosy the Bellas are and how openly affectionate Emily is. But with someone like Beca involved, PDA isn’t a big factor between them and most of their touches go unnoticed.  

Even the not-so discreet touches behind thin walls that have Emily moaning Beca’s name.

Mostly because Beca usually manages to clap her hand over Emily’s mouth before she gets too loud.

Usually.

It’s been almost three months and none of the Bellas have caught wind that they’re together. And while neither of them have qualms about coming clean and announcing their relationship, Beca’s more of a let-them-assume-whatever kind of person and Emily’s just a I’m-just-happy-to-have-you kind of person, so they never get around to clarifying their status.

They both secretly like keeping everything on the down low. Less intrusive questions. Less eye-rolling. Less sexual innuendos from Amy. 

And somehow…kind of sexy. 

No one would really expect any outwardly form of affection from Beca, and  _ that _ , Emily thinks, is what makes her so sneaky. Because when Beca squeezes her knee under the table at dinner or trails a finger across her bare shoulder blades at practice, Emily just looks like an idiot, flinching and gasping suddenly while everyone turns to her in concern. And Beca is  _ such _ a little shit that she can easily put on a mask of fake concern to match the others’, so the Bellas are none the wiser.

Beca’s touches are quick, playful, and almost deliberately devoid of innocence. 

And it drives Emily  _ crazy _ . 

Because even though she would adamantly deny it when asked, Beca Mitchell is a goddamn tease. 

Maybe it’s the age difference, or maybe it’s because Emily is so absolutely pure and adorable; Beca doesn’t really know why she gets a surge of confidence when it comes to flustering the freshman. There’s just something satisfying about her spluttering excuses and flushed cheeks and half-hearted glare shot in Beca’s direction, and it’s not like Emily makes it any easier to keep her paws off. Her tight leggings and revealing crop tops are practically  _ begging _ for physical attention.

Compared to her, Emily is a cuddly teddy bear. Her infectious hugs are a staple of Bella’s gatherings, and no one questions why she’s so attached to Beca because the senior always had  _ some _ one — whether it be Chloe and her own brand of hugs or Stacie with her shameless flirting — on her back; there was just something about her grumpy attitude that attracted the opposite type of people. 

Emily’s touches are even harder to distinguish because they’re hidden in plain sight, and that’s what  _ Beca _ thinks makes Emily so sneaky. 

One minute, she’d be casually leaning her head on Beca’s shoulder while the Bellas — sans Beca, obviously — watched a movie, and the next, she would be pressing silent kisses on the senior’s neck, turning quickly away when any of the other Bellas shifted in their seats. Or she’d be hugging Beca from behind during practice like she does with all the other seniors, and suddenly she would slip a hand up Beca’s shirt as soon as everyone’s eyes are focused on Chloe or Flo. 

And if Beca didn’t have dignity and pride as a senior and captain, she would’ve dragged Emily to the nearest bathroom or closet and taught this girl a friggen  _ lesson.  _

Not that she’s ever in the position to teach Emily any lessons. 

Because as soon as the door closes behind them and they’re alone in the own world, the intense side of Emily emerges and practically swallows Beca whole. 

This girl is the origin of the “lady in the streets, freak in the sheets” phrase and Beca sometimes can’t handle the abrupt shift in her demeanor. Her touches become rough, she uses a  _ lot _ more teeth than Beca could ever expect, and more often than not, she goes straight in for the kill. No build-up, no foreplay, just…straight-up lust and hunger and  _ need _ that leaves both of them shaking afterwards. 

On the other hand, Beca is still a little shit and teases Emily even when things are hot and heavy, which the freshman does  _ not  _ appreciate but can’t get enough of. For someone with such a short temper, Beca has infinite amounts of patience when it comes to giving Emily what she wants, only relenting when the freshman is desperately begging for release. 

Maybe because they’re keeping up such a long streak of going undiscovered, but they can’t get enough of each other when they’re alone together. The secrecy from the others, the risk of being discovered, and the the thrill of doing everything (and anything) undercover gives their relationship a fleeting, dangerous feel. 

And they just might’ve gotten through the rest of the school year  _ and  _ Worlds had a certain Australian blonde had more boundaries when it came to knocking on people’s doors before barging in. 

“Hey Beca, do you ha-aaaoooh my aca-fricken  _ god  _ my  _ eyes! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> yell at me: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	13. lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "had a bad week would love some soft bemily!!"
> 
> oh bitch me too (but then I escaped to my friend’s place for mdw where I didn’t have my laptop or wifi so I didn’t get to this until now so sorry my dude)

Everyone knows how terribly Beca handles her sleep schedule. Her notorious all-nighters. Her addiction to coffee. Her dark eyebags. Her oh-you-got-four-hours-of-sleep-that’s-cute-I-haven’t-slept-in-three-days tone when midterms and finals roll around. Her tendency to nod off during practice.

But this particular finals week is more brutal than anything she’s ever faced.

And it sucks because it’s her senior year and it’s supposed to be _easy_ , goddamnit.

On the last reading day before finals officially kick off, Beca shuffles into the kitchen where Chloe and Stacie are checking over each other’s papers. “Beca, you need sleep,” Chloe chides, watching Beca fix herself her nth cup of coffee of the day.

“Still gotta study,” Beca grunts back, her voice raspy from the lack of use.

“It’s better to get enough rest than cram until the last minute,” Chloe insists. “You’re not gonna retain anything at this point.”

“I still have a research paper due Thursday.”

“So? That’s plenty of time,” Stacie chimes in.

“Haven’t started,” Beca grumbles into her coffee. “And I have another exam on Wednesday.”

“Still think you should sleep, Becs.”

“Look.” She puts down her mug and fixes Chloe in a bleary-eyed glare. “How about you let me worry about my own beauty sleep, and you just concentrate on not failing Russian Lit again, okay?”

Stacie raises her eyebrows at her laptop screen. “ _Someone_ ’s a grumpy-butt. Hey, you know what’ll fix that?” she asks, shooting Beca a smile. “Some sleep.”

“Bite me.”

“Beca.”

“Yes, mother?” Beca practically snarls at Chloe’s scolding tone. Her scowl fades a little when she sees the genuine hurt in Chloe’s eyes. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I just…can’t sleep with this stress, dude. I’ve tried napping and shit, but I keep thinking about deadlines and studying and how sleeping is a waste of time.”   

“But it’s _not_ a waste of time if you give your body the rest it n —”

“Yeah, but my mind doesn’t work like that.”

And Chloe doesn’t have a response to that, and Stacie just purses her lip in the _yeah, I guess you right_ way that she does, so Beca just takes her coffee and shuffles back into the living room where her laptop and textbook await her return.

She sits heavily down on the couch and stares blankly at all the notes she still has to go over. On the opposite side of the couch is Emily, curled up in the corner with her laptop and a blanket. She pulls out one earbud and eyes Beca’s coffee.

“What, you didn’t get me one?” she asks innocently.

Beca slowly turns and glares in response, and Emily smiles.

“Kidding, kidding.”

“Better be, Legacy,” Beca sniffs.

She snatches up her notebook and stares at it, hard, wishing she could just tattoo all the words onto her brain so she doesn’t actually have to understand what she’s reading. The rest of the Bella house is miraculously quiet, with everyone — even Fat Amy — studying for their first exam or working towards their first deadline.

Beca knows she should sleep. She’d pulled an all-nighter last night, the second one in four days, and her stress-fueled dreams haven’t exactly given her restful nights this past week. But there’s a shitton of work to be done on top of the demo-related stuff for her internship that she hadn’t disclosed to Chloe.

It’s a weird mix of her academic life and professional life that’s all coming together at once and suffocating her under different kinds of pressure, and Beca couldn’t sleep if she wanted to.

She lowers her notebook and stares at the wall in front of her, craving the sweet release of death.

Through her headphones, Beca thinks she hears Emily say something, but she doesn’t bother looking in the freshman’s direction. Instead, she just pops out one earbud and tilts her head towards Emily.

But she’s not talking to Beca.

She’s singing along to whatever’s playing on her laptop.

 _There came a knock on my door fear can't keep away_ _  
_ _I've been standing up on my toes, staring through the window pane_

It’s a song Beca doesn’t recognize, which is saying a lot, but there’s a good rhythm to the words and Emily’s soft, almost absent-minded singing gives it a nice cadence. She wishes she could hear the music through Emily’s headphones, but judging by the tempo and the lyrics, it’s probably an acoustic track.  
  
_Now I'm a stranger to the world, but it’s only helped me dream_  
_And mama said baby get back you don't want it_ _  
_ _But it feels like Friday night, and I don’t wanna miss a thing_

It’s a nice song. Emily seems completely unaware of her audience, so her voice is pitched to herself and kept low as if not to disturb Beca, but it doesn’t sound too monotone or off-key. If this were any other day, the wannabe producer in her would’ve started to make riffs and beats that could go along with the melody of the lyrics, but in her exhausted state, all she could do is drink in the sound of Emily’s singing.

She should be studying, damnit. But…

It’s really a nice song. So she lets Emily’s voice wash over her like gentle waves on the beach.

 _I grew up a door down from either way_  
_And I've been working late through the night towards something I don't want to be_  
_She said, “Baby hurry make it, not sure if I can take it,” and lonely ain't the life for me_  
_But it feels like Friday night…_

Sometimes she forgets how well the freshman can sing, despite her claim that she’s never taken vocal lessons or joined the school choir. Beca can pick out all of the Bella’s singing voices from a blind lineup, from Chloe’s light and playful bubblegum-pop lilt to Fat Amy’s loud and surprisingly on-key screams. She hadn’t had a chance to really familiarize herself with Emily’s singing voice, and Beca listens carefully to every note she sings, the way she transitions from low to high notes, the little vibrato she manages to throw in despite the lack of volume. And before she realizes what’s happening, she’s drifting off…  
  
_And this is what dreams are made of_  
_I met mine a long time ago_  
_They all said please don't leave us_  
_But it feels like Friday night, and I don't want to miss a thing_

She’s out like a light before Emily even finishes the chorus.

* * *

Beca jerks awake in near-darkness and immediately switches into panic mode, questions coming out in confused statements.

_Holy shit, what time is it. Where am I. What happened. Who. Exam. Where. What. Study. When._

“Oh, hi.”

The voice comes from somewhere above her, and Beca realizes she’s still on the living room couch. But she’s horizontal. And there’s a blanket on top of her. And her notebook is gone.

And her head is resting on Emily’s lap.

“What the shit,” she croaks, now fully conscious and embarrassed as _hell_ because she does _not_ remember falling into this position. She tries to jackknife into sitting position, but her aching back and Emily’s arm get in the way, so she ends up doing an absurd wiggle away from Emily using the back of the couch to pull herself upright.

“You fell asleep while studying,” Emily says simply, lightly pushing at Beca’s back to help her sit up. She’s still curled up in the same corner of the couch, her laptop open to a wall of text that makes Beca’s head spin. “I think Lilly took all the couch cushions for…something? And you looked so uncomfortable so I asked if you wanted to use my lap as a pillow. You agreed, but I don’t think you were really conscious.”

Beca rubs her eyes and looks blearily around the room. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven in the morning.”

“Holy shit,” Beca curses, slapping at her cheeks. “Hoooooly shit. I was asleep for that long?”

Emily shrugs. “Chloe said not to wake you until eight because your final’s at eight-thirty. So you can technically sleep for another hour.”

“Oh, my god. No, dude. I have to…” she trails off as she reaches for her notebook and sees that it’s closed and resting on her laptop. There’s a sticky note on the cover, and Beca rips it off unceremoniously to read it.

 

 _Glad_ someone _was able to get you to sleep. Better thank her, Becs ;) Now, seriously. Stop cramming. Go take your exam. You’re not going to memorize any more information than you already have._

_Good luck!_

_xoxo Chloe_

 

“Bitch,” Beca whispers, not really meaning it.

“She, uh. Said you had trouble sleeping because of stress, and that it must’ve been something really relaxing that put you to sleep,” Emily says curiously, peering at Beca. “So what was it?”

Instead of answering, Beca busies herself by kicking off the blanket and gathering all her stuff. She feels her neck flush with embarrassment, and she hopes Emily can’t see in the near-darkness. It’s not that it was wrong or weak of her to fall asleep to Emily’s singing; the girl has a sweet and gentle voice, and Beca’s been running on fumes. But there’s something about admitting that she was lulled to sleep by singing that makes her feel like…a baby.

“I gotta…um.” She stands slowly, laptop, charger, textbook, notebook, and empty mug all clutched to her chest, and looks at a pleasantly puzzled Emily. “I should change. And shower. Well, shower _then_ change. And maybe eat something.”

Maybe it’s the serious sleep deprivation, but Beca heart suddenly jumps at the sight of Emily’s smile. “I can make you something, if you want,” she offers, putting her laptop down on the couch. “I can make a mean…uh. Scrambled egg. Which isn’t that mean, now that I think about it. With some bacon and toast?”

Breakfast sounds divine to Beca’s empty stomach. “Uh. Thanks,” she says awkwardly. “That’d be great.”

“Cool! I’ll fire up the oven! …Uh. I mean…stove.”  Emily blushes at her enthusiastic mistake and shakes her head as she trudges towards the kitchen, and Beca bites the inside of her cheek as she heads upstairs.

“Hey, wait.” Beca pokes her head around the door and calls to Emily. “What was that song you were singing last night? Before I…fell asleep.” The last two words come out like she’s committed some sin, and Emily probably hears it too, because she stifles a laugh.

“‘Friday Night Dreamer,’” she says. “Though, a more appropriate name would’ve been _Sunday_ Night Dreamer, for you.”

Beca scoffs, “Shut up, nerd.” She starts to duck her head back out, rolling her eyes, but pauses. “It sounded nice,” she adds in a smaller voice.

Emily smiles again, nose crinkling adorably. “I can sing it for you again, if you want. You know, when you’re having trouble sleeping.” She winks at Beca and disappears into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX  
> fic song: Friday Night Dreamer - Ross David
> 
> I know literally every fic I write has something about Emily's smile but like...I'm just a simple bitch who's weak for Emily Junk's smile ok so please bear with me
> 
> send me prompts at: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	14. lullaby pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "would kill for a sequel to the singing fic (sleepy beca)"
> 
> *looks through my "chill" playlist for songs an angry and stressed DJ would fall asleep to*

If first semester finals kicked Beca’s ass, it was nothing compared to what second semester midterms are doing to her.

She can admit it; she was an idiot the first few years of college. Freshman year was practically wasted on intro courses that she barely passed due to her intense lack of fucks to give. Sophomore year was spent on all the liberal learning courses like _science_ and _literature_ that she absolutely hated but wanted to get out of the way. It wasn’t until junior year that she really got into her major and started taking more intensive courses.

Which was shit planning on her part, because everyone else was smart enough to space out their major and their electives like normal college kids. Beca, who never expected to stay for more than a year, was not one of those kids.

She’d cruised through the first two and a half years of college. Now it’s the last leg of the marathon and she feels like she’s literally dying. Part of it probably has to do with the fact that the contents of her stomach are 40% coffee and 60% emptiness.

“Hey,” Chloe calls as Beca drifts into the kitchen like a ghost. “Did you finish your last paper?”

Beca just grunts in response and beelines straight for the coffee machine.

“You’re not gonna go to sleep? You’ve been up for days.”

“Worlds set,” she replies shortly.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “We have months before that’s due, Becs. You should get some shuteye and get to it with a fresh mind, right?”

“No sleep. Too much stress.”

They trade an understanding look. “Can you at least eat something?” Chloe asks, watching with concern as Beca pours herself another mug of coffee.

“No time.”

“To eat or to prepare it? Because I can make you something really quick.”

“To eat.”

“Ever hear of multi-tasking?” Cynthia Rose calls sarcastically from the kitchen table.

“Yeah,” Beca fires back, “watch this.” She lifts the mug to her mouth and drinks from it audibly while slowly lifting her middle finger towards the table.

“Real mature,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, you know what’ll fix that?” Stacie asks, walking into the kitchen with her own empty mug.

Beca walks out of the kitchen before Stacie could answer her own question.

Her room is blissfully silent and empty when she returns with her coffee, with Fat Amy having left a few minutes prior to an unknown (but guessable) location. She settles down at her desk, props open her laptop again, and opens up her mixing program.

Beca admittedly doesn’t care about Worlds as deeply as Chloe does. Sure, she wants to make a kick-ass set and beat those asshole Germans to the ground, but there are so many other things to worry about and frankly, Beca doesn’t have room in her cluttered mind to invest herself in the rivalry. Her sole motivation for perfecting the Worlds set is for them to win and reinstate the Bellas so at least _some_ part of her work hasn’t gone to waste.

She searches through her old mixes for inspiration, stomach dropping when she sees the folder for ‘demo attempts’ that she had sent to her internship boss.

Speaking of work gone to waste…

No, no. She’s not going there. Today’s focus is on the Bellas. Their future depends on her. How can she rest with that hanging over her head?

With a frustrated groan, she angrily threads her fingers through her hair, resisting the urge to yank it all out. _You can’t even make a simple set, Beca_ , the goblin voice in her head taunts, _how do you expect to make a whole song out of scratch?_

“Uh, hey.” Emily suddenly appears at the top of the stairs, and Beca jumps violently.

“Jesus.”

“Sorry! I…I knocked, but your door’s like. All the way down there,” she says, pointing to the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s cool,” Beca gasps, clutching her chest. “I just didn’t expect…uh, what’s up?”

Emily has an unzipped backpack hanging off of one shoulder and a laptop clutched against her chest, an uncharacteristically annoyed expression on her face. “Chloe and Stacie decided to take a break and started blasting music downstairs. Would it be okay if I studied here?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Make yourself comfortable anywhere you want.”

“Thanks!” Emily beams, and despite her exhaustion, Beca returns the smile.

Since Amy’s side is an explosive mess of clothing and used dishes, Emily settles on Beca’s bed and spreads out her studying material. Now that her option for sleep is completely eliminated, Beca re-focuses on her laptop, somewhat relieved that Emily had taken away that possibility.

She’s not sure how much longer she would’ve lasted if her bed stayed unoccupied.

Emily is a quiet study companion. Unlike her usual self, eager to talk to Beca and practically bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm at practice, work-focused Emily is mellow and diligent: two things the rest of the Bellas are _not_.

Nearly an hour had passed with absolutely no productivity from Beca, who is now surfing through YouTube covers of trap songs, when she picks up the mumbling of Emily’s voice through her earbuds. When she removes one to hear what the freshman is saying, her first thought is _oh, shit_.

Because Emily’s singing to herself again, and Beca vividly remembers what happened the last time she’d listened to her sing while sleep-deprived. But before she understands what she’s doing, she’s taking out the other earbud to hear Emily better.

 _I have so many questions and places to go_  
_There are too many options, far too many unknowns_ _  
This is why I need you_

It’s another song Beca doesn’t know, with another slow, melodic tune, and she can’t help but to wonder if Emily deliberately chooses to sing along to these songs to drag Beca to sleep.

 _And everyone talks now, but no one is right_  
_There are too many armies, with no one to fight_ _  
This is why I need you_

She should ask Emily to stop. Or she should just put her earbuds back on. Anything to stop the heartwarming voice from pulling her towards unconsciousness.

But she keeps listening, eyes fixed on her laptop, refusing to turn around and give any indication to Emily that she’s listening.

 _You make the edges less sharp, you make the winter feel warmer_  
_And you make my weakness less weak_  
_You make the bottom less deep, you make the waiting feel shorter_  
_You make my crazy feel normal, every time_  
_You are the who, love is the what, and this is the why_

There’s definitely a smile in Emily’s voice as she sings the last line, and Beca also smiles to herself, dropping it immediately when she sees her reflection on the screen. She slowly sinks lower on her elbows until she’s resting her head on her arms, blinking tiredly up at her screensaver as Emily sings softly into the next verse.

 _There are so many problems and no one who cares_  
_There are so many roads, and they all need repairs_ _  
This is why I need you_

 _And there's not enough chocolate, there's too many chores_  
_There are so many mountains that I haven't explored  
This is why I need you_

She doesn’t know when she closes her eyes, but somewhere in the middle of the second chorus, Beca drifts off to sleep, partially annoyed with her own weakness and predictability and partially relieved that there’s something — or some _one_ — that can ease her doubt-ridden mind.

* * *

Beca jerks awake in a puddle of drool and a blanket around her shoulders.

“Fuck,” is the first word out of her mouth, before she even wipes the drool away, and she doesn’t even know why she says that because she’d let herself be dragged to sleep. Her neck feels like it’s broken, her laptop is dead, and she glances out the window to see that it’s pitch-black outside.

Emily’s gone. But her stuff is still scattered around her bed, so she’s probably coming back.

Groggy and feeling like complete shit after going so long without eating, Beca slowly and painfully pushes herself away from her desk, wrapping the blanket tighter around her, and shuffles towards the stairs. But before she even takes a few steps, she hears someone opening her door and hopping up the stairs.

“Oh, you’re up!” Emily says breathlessly. In her hands are two plates that smell like _heaven_. “I decided to take a break to make everyone dinner! There’s penne vodka and bread and some salad.” She hands a plate to Beca, who takes it like it’s the Holy Grail. “Chloe told me you haven’t eaten, so I put a lot on yours. But there’s more downstairs if you want!”

“You are a literal angel,” Beca mutters before shoveling a gigantic bite into her mouth. She moans at the rich taste of the pasta, letting out a quiet “fuck, that’s good,” when she’d swallowed enough to speak. Emily smiles at her through her own mouthful, and for a while, they just sit on Beca’s bed and tear through their plates in silence.

“Was that enough?” Emily asks with concern when Beca inhales the last bite within minutes.

“Not really,” she says honestly, rubbing her stomach. “But I haven’t eaten in a while and I don’t want to overwhelm my metabolism.” She smiles gratefully at Emily. “Thanks. For feeding me. Again,” she adds.

“Of course! Anything to help.”  
  
She says the last part knowingly, and Beca squints suspiciously at her.  

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” Emily asks innocently.

“You _know_ what,” Beca shoots back, playfully shoving at Emily’s shoulder and causing her to giggle.

“I was just singing to myself, Beca. It’s not my fault you decided to listen and fall asleep.”

“Did Chloe put you up to it?”

Emily makes a humming sound. “Maybe indirectly? She knew I was studying in the dining room and started playing music right by the doorway, so I think she was chasing me upstairs. When I saw that you looked like a zombie, I figured she wanted me up here so you can sleep.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Does she think you’re my tranquilizer or something?”

“I was thinking something more enchanting, like a Siren.”

“That’s even more terrifying, but sure.” She slides her empty plate onto her desk and throws herself down on her bed, careful to avoid Emily’s papers and books. “God, why can’t I sleep like a normal human being?”

Emily also puts down her plate and shrugs. “Well, you don’t have normal human problems,” she says simply, condensing her mess of papers so Beca has more room. “You’re arranging a set for an international championship and taking super hard classes at the same time. It makes sense that you’re too stressed to sleep.”

“Try telling that to Chloe,” Beca mutters.

“I said that it makes sense. Not that it’s healthy,” Emily laughs. “Chloe wants the best for you.”

Beca glances at Emily at her words, smiling a little.

 _The best for you_.

“Hey, this is like, super weird,” Beca starts awkwardly. “But would it be okay if I like…napped here?”

Emily’s eyes light up. “Yes! Here, we can switch places and I can move my stuff to your desk —”

“No, uh.” She stops Emily from moving any of her papers and just wiggles under the covers in the space that’s left. “Again, super weird, but can you stay…here? And…and…” Beca feels herself blushing and _hates_ it. “Just…sing?”

Emily looks at her in shock for a minute before her face melts into a smile that fills Beca’s stomach with a thousand butterflies. “Of course.”

“Th-thanks,” she stutters in response.

“I can sing you a song I wrote,” she says quietly as Beca closes her eyes. “It’s called ‘Flashlight.’”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX  
> fic song: This Is Why I Need You - Jesse Ruben
> 
> prompts at: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	15. look after you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "can you do a bemily fic based on the song Look After You by Aron Wright? maybe where emily is just feeing stressed and tired when working with the new bellas and beca is there to comfort her?"
> 
> I highkey love this song and artist now like wow what a soft and emotional jam. At first I wasn't gonna include the actual song in the fic bc I thought it'd be cheesy but like...the two previous fics were Emily singing to Beca and it only seemed fair to return the favor

She’s overreacting.

She feels it with every fiber of her being.

She’s only twenty, for heaven’s sake. What does _she_ have to stress about? Taxes? Bills? Healthcare? No, she’s just a goshdarn college kid. She should be able to handle these elementary challenges. How is she going to face adulthood if something like _this_ is going to send her over the edge?

The wind blows icy rain towards her face and she squints against the misty breeze, shivering in the cold. She hugs her knees close to her chest and stares out into the lake, trying, trying, _trying_ to quiet the voices in her head.

_You can’t do it. You’ll never be good enough. They’ll never like you. You can’t do it. They’ll never listen to you. You’ll never live up to their expectations. You’re a failure. Can’t do anything right._

She wants to scream. She could if she wanted to; there’s no one around and it’s the dead of night. Everyone would just think it’s just another dumb drunk college kid fooling around with their friends. No one would think it’s her. She could do it.

But the only thing that comes out of her mouth is a strangled sob, and she bites down on her tongue to keep it all inside so she doesn’t sound as pathetic as she feels.

 _You can’t do it_.

It was just a little argument. There weren’t even raised voices. She’s heard worse words hurled at her from a certain blonde Australian. It was the tension in the room that had her shaking. The silence. The pause where everyone waited for her to give them a reassuring response.

The disappointment had been clear on their faces when she couldn’t give them one.

But it’s not a big deal. She’s overreacting.

_Stop. Stop overreacting. Stop blowing this up. It’s nothing. It was nothing. Get over it. It’s nothing._

_You’re nothing_.

She’s doing her best with the tools and experience she has at her disposal. She’s doing her best, okay? So there’s no reason to cry.

_There’s no reason to be out here in the freezing rain in the middle of the night. It’s pointless and stupid and dramatic and quite frankly, her energy is better used elsewhere._

The heaviness in her heart says otherwise.

 _You can’t do it_.

_Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enou —_

The rain suddenly stops pelting her head, and the white noise of rainfall is replaced by the steady _plip plop_ of water droplets hitting taut fabric.

Sensing the presence above and behind her, she slowly looks up to see a dark blue umbrella obscuring the night sky.

“Hey, stranger.”

She doesn’t have to turn to know who the voice belongs to, but she does anyway to make sure she’s not hallucinating. The familiar face is like a punch to her gut. To her dignity. To her capabilities. She doesn’t trust her voice to return a greeting.

“Do you wanna be left alone?”

_Yes. Say yes. Wallow in your pity alone. You don’t deserve comfort. You’re a failure._

_You don’t deserve her_.

She shakes her head and squeezes her arms tighter around her knees.

When Beca settles down next to her, Emily feels fresh tears spring to her eyes. Without a word, Beca hands the umbrella to Emily and starts shrugging out of her thick jacket, draping it over Emily’s shoulders and propping the hood up to cover her soaked hair.

She doesn’t protest. She wants to, but she doesn’t trust herself to argue anything right now. Beca doesn’t say anything as she takes back the umbrella and holds it between them. The jacket is a warm and comfortable weight on her back, and Emily pulls it tighter around her, breathing in Beca’s nostalgic scent.

They listen to the rain in silence. There’s no way to stifle her sniffling or to stop her tears, not with the voices still swirling around in her head. Beca doesn’t pry, and Emily’s grateful for that. Having an audience for her breakdown isn’t exactly ideal, but she’s glad that Beca’s not making it into an awkward therapy session.

She kind of wants to feel Beca, though, whether it be an arm around her shoulders or a hand on hers. She wants to know that she’s actually here with her. To ground her. But she’s already asking for too much by having Beca here next to her.

_Why are you out here? Why are you making her sit with you? It’s cold and rainy and you’re gonna make Beca suffer with you? Why? What are you even worth? You can’t do anything. You suck._

_You suck!_

Emily buries her face in her knees, hiding her tears and trying desperately to keep her breathing even.

 _It’s not my fault. I’m trying my best. I’m doing what I can. I can’t fulfill everyone’s expectations. I’m trying. I’m_ trying _. I’m trying._

_Are you?_

She’s aware of how loud her breathing is getting, but no matter how hard she inhales or exhales, her lungs just don’t want to cooperate with the rest of her body.

 _When you think you’re all alone_  
_I’ll wrap you up and I’ll take you home_  
_No matter what you’re going through  
I will look after you_

Emily opens her eyes at the soft sound of Beca’s voice. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she peeks sideways at her. Beca’s staring out into the lake, pointedly not looking in Emily’s direction. For all she knows, Beca could just be singing to herself.

She knows that’s not the case, that Beca’s trying to comfort her in her own way, but Emily appreciates that she’s not being smothered.

 _When you get knocked down and you had enough_  
_Oh I’ll be there to…nah nah nah_  
_When you…la la…forget the words  
I will look after you_

Despite the moment, Emily can’t stop the smile from tugging at her mouth. She knows a musical perfectionist like Beca wouldn’t mess up on purpose to make her laugh. The frustration and embarrassment is clear on her face, but she tries to continue on.

 _And if you ever…should lose…hope?_  
_Follow my light from afar_  
_…When you…ca…? d…on’t know where you’re going to_  
_I will look after you  
I will look after you_

Beca glances apologetically at Emily when she finishes. “Sorry,” she says quietly. “That was embarrassing. I should’ve picked a song I knew the lyrics to.”

There’s absolutely no reason for her to be sorry, but Emily can’t find the voice to tell her that. Instead, she just shakes her head and offers Beca a smile, hoping it doesn’t look too forced.

Beca scoots closer, then, switching the umbrella to her other hand, and loops her arm through Emily’s.

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly.

Emily nods.

“You would tell me if it wasn’t?”

She nods again.

Beca leans her head on Emily’s shoulder and they resume their silence.

The words of the song play over and over in Emily’s head, trying to fix and fill in the words that Beca had missed.

_Why bother? You can’t do anything else right —_

_Shush. I’m busy._

Softly, barely putting any sound into it, she hums through the whole song, envisioning all the correct lyrics. If Beca hears her, she gives no indication that she does. They both stare straight ahead out towards the lake as a sliver of the moon peeks out from behind the rainclouds, casting a pale light across the water.

The view that had filled Emily with such hopelessness just minutes ago now looks beautiful.  

“How’d you find me?” she mumbles at last. There’re more important questions, like _why are you here at Barden_ or maybe _why are you walking around in the rain at 2 in the morning_ , but she settles on that question hoping it would answer the others.

Beca sniffs out a small laugh. “You’re literally wearing a reflective windbreaker, dude.” She flicks the sleeve of Emily’s Bellas jacket to make a _swish!_ sound. “You’re like a lamppost in the dark. A flashlight, if you will.”

Emily doesn’t want to laugh, she doesn’t even think she can, but a choked giggle comes from her half-clogged throat. “That’s not what I meant.” She glances at Beca to see her biting back a smile at her own stupid joke.

“I remember you telling Stacie that you sometimes come here to write songs.” She nods towards the gazebo just a few feet away from where they’re sitting. “Coulda sat in there, Legacy. Wouldn’t be soaked if you had a roof over your head.”

Emily averts her gaze, feeling childish. “Didn’t wanna,” is all she can mumble.

She didn’t want to be dry. She wanted to be out in the rain and freeze and be miserable. It’s what she’d felt like she deserved.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Beca asks.

Emily considers it. She thinks back to practice, to the innocently phrased question that had turned into an argument, to the sense of inadequacy and inferiority, to the disappointed looks on all of her Bellas, to the truthful statement that had cut through Emily like a rusty knife.

_It’s not like you have anything new to offer us._

She clenches her teeth, forgetting to breathe for a few seconds. She could talk about it. She could unload it all onto Beca. She could let everything go and cry out her frustrations and scream, _really_ scream, and clutch onto Beca like a lifeline. Emily knows she would listen to all of it.

But in the end, she shakes her head. “Not tonight,” she says. Beca nods and doesn’t press.

“Then let’s go.”

She gently pulls Emily to her feet. It’s not like she has the strength to resist, no matter how small Beca is. They walk to Emily’s dorm, taking, she realizes, a much longer route than necessary. The chilly air that had ripped through her thin windbreaker feels like nothing through Beca’s jacket. It even feels…nice.

Beca urges Emily to shower as soon as they’re in her room. The hot water feels like heaven on her frozen skin, and the steam melts away her swollen eyes and stuffy nose. She doesn’t even use shampoo or soap, just letting the water run over her like a cleansing river.

When she comes out of the bathroom, Beca is bent over the candles on her desk, lighting them one by one. “Hey,” she greets, her smile dancing in the candlelight.

“Hi.” Emily stares at Beca, who has her shoes and jacket back on, looking like she's ready to leave. “Um.” She swallows nervously. “I know this is…asking for a lot. I don’t even know why you’re here or how you knew I was out there in the middle of the night…and honestly I don’t…I don’t…know…don’t know if…” she trails off, feeling like she’s choking on her own breath.

“Hey, hey.” Beca accidentally drops the lighter in her haste to put it down and she curses before taking Emily’s hands in hers. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe. Breathe, Em. Please,” she says, and Emily latches on to the gentleness of her tone and the soothing cadence of her voice. She doesn’t even remember what she wanted to say.

But she knows what she wants to ask.

“Can you please stay with me tonight?” Emily begs, voice barely above a whisper.

She squeezes Emily's hands. “Of course.”

Beca waits patiently as Emily dries her hair and gets ready for bed, stripping off her jacket and shoes so she’s in a T-shirt and sweatpants. They crawl into bed, warm and dry under the covers, settling into each other as rain patters outside on the windowpane. They both lie on their backs for a while, staring up at the ceiling, until Beca shifts over to rest her cheek on Emily’s shoulder and interlock their fingers.

“I’m here,” she says simply.

It’s only two words, but they put all the pieces back in Emily’s heart.

“I know,” she whispers back. “Thank you. For staying,” she adds.

Beca hums sleepily in response. Emily looks down at her peaceful expression, smiling at how soft and delicate her features are. After a second of hesitation, she leans over and nuzzles her nose into Beca’s hair. “You didn’t finish the song,” she says quietly.

Beca blinks open her eyes, clearly confused. But then she nods once, remembering. “Oh, really? Sorry, I guess I really forgot how it all goes.”

Emily smiles. “It’s okay. It’s just two lines.”

“Then I didn’t miss much.”

“You butchered two verses.”

There’s a smile in Beca’s voice. “This is what I get for trying to cheer you up.” She closes her eyes again. “Then sing it to me, nerd.”

They’re both drifting off to sleep, but Emily swallows and clears her throat a little, quietly humming the previous verse to refresh the words before opening her mouth.

 _Someday you will come to be  
_ _I’ll need you to look after me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX  
> fic song: Look After You - Alan Wright
> 
> this fic was based on anxiety attacks I used to have in college so like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> fight me: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	16. treehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Emily is stressed and tired, so Beca decides to take Emily to the tree, where Beca used hang around at when she was a student, to help her relax (maybe listen to music and/or just talk with whats going on in their lives). After a while (both leaning on a tree maybe?), Emily ends up falling asleep and ends up cuddling Beca."

Emily’s always been one to worry too much about things that are out of her control. 

When she was seven and a hurricane hit her house, she cried for hours over the flooded streets and the rabbit’s nest in the backyard. In middle school, she went through a phase of wanting to become a doctor so if anyone in her family were to fall ill, she’d be able to heal them. There wasn’t a single college application she submitted her senior year that she didn’t want to take back and edit somehow. 

She thinks that maybe if she worries enough, she’ll magically think of a solution to fix it. 

The rabbits were fine. No one in her family contracted a fatal disease. Six out of seven colleges accepted her application. 

She still can’t help herself from hanging on. 

The exam is over. It’s over. It’s been over for a few hours, now. But Emily can’t let go. She’s  _ sure _ she got that question wrong. And that one. And maybe that one. She scours her notes and flips frantically through her textbook, searching for answers she’s not even sure she wrote down. It’s been days since Emily’s gotten proper sleep, and there’s a haze around her head that hinders her thoughts and memory.

Before she realizes what she’s doing, her notes are re-spread across the Bella’s kitchen table, her laptop propped open to her study guides and practice problems. She pulls textbook after textbook out of her backpack, piling them on top of each other. 

Beca stumbles in on her in the midst of her re-study-session. “Oh, wow,” she comments, looking around at the mess. “You have another exam or something?” 

Emily tears her heavy eyes away from her laptop screen, meeting Beca’s half-worried, half-amused expression. 

“Uh…no. I’m kind of just…just reviewing. Checking to see if my answers were right.” 

“Ew,” Beca says, wrinkling her nose. “Dude, it’s over. Just put all this shit away and take a nap or something.” 

“Sorry, it’s just.” Emily takes a deep breath and tries to reign in her rising hysteria. “There’s just.  _ So _ much riding on this exam, you know? I didn’t do so great on the papers and the quizzes are  _ impossible _ so I have to bank on this grade, and if it’s not enough, I have to try  _ that  _ much harder on the final and there’re other classes I have to concentrate on for that, so I’m just…” She clenches her hands into fists. “…worried.” 

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now, right? So what’s the point in checking?”

“I…” She swallows with difficulty. “Just…need to know. May-…maybe if…I know what I got wrong, I can figure out my grade, and then I’ll know if I need to ask my professor for some kind of extra credit.” 

Beca raises an eyebrow. “You’re really planning ahead, huh?”

“If I don’t, I’m gonna fail this class.” The word ‘fail’ rolls out of Emily’s mouth and falls heavily to the floor like a cinder block. “A-and if I fail this class…” The laptop screen wavers in front of her eyes, the words blurring into indecipherable squiggles. She’s aware that she’s tilting sideways, but she doesn’t have the strength to care. 

Beca rushes forward and places a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Whoa, okay. You need to take it easy, dude. Go and get some sleep. You can take my bed if you want.” 

Emily buries her face in her hands. “I  _ can’t _ , okay? It’s just… _ ugh _ .” She rakes her fingers angrily through her hair. “I can’t get it out of my mind. I  _ have _ to know how I did.” 

“Okay, let’s just.” Beca pulls Emily’s hands away from the keyboard and closes her laptop. “Stop looking at words for a bit.” 

“But —”

“Nope. Come on, let’s go.” 

She pulls Emily to her feet and marches her out of the kitchen. 

“Uh. Where…?” she trails off as Beca throws open the front door. 

“Just follow me,” Beca says evasively. “You need to unplug.” 

“But —”

“ _ No _ , dude.” 

Emily wants to fight and run back to her laptop, but Beca looks serious and concerned so she just purses her lips and follow tiredly along. She leads them back onto campus and through the academic buildings, and Emily suppresses a shiver as she passes by the building she’d just taken her exam in. But soon enough, they’re walking off the opposite side of campus and into the dense woods beyond. 

Emily narrows her eyes. “Listen, if this is some prank, I really don’t want to —”

“Just play along, Legacy.” 

“Aha! So it  _ is _ a prank!” 

Beca looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at her but doesn’t say anything. In fact, they walk a good five minutes in silence, trudging through the fallen leaves and loose bramble, until Beca finally asks, “How long have you been awake?” 

Emily’s too focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping on branches to catch Beca’s question until she repeats it a little louder. 

“Uh.” She honestly can’t remember. “I took a nap.” 

“How long was it? When?”

“You’re asking…too many words.” 

“Those questions literally cannot be any shorter.” 

She stumbles on a hidden tree root and Beca jumps back to grab her hand and steady her. She doesn’t let go of Emily’s hand as they keep walking. 

“I took a nap right after the exam,” she says. Despite her exhaustion, she’s hyper aware of Beca’s hand in hers. She wants to ask why Beca’s not letting go, but she doesn’t want to make it weird. “But I woke up like 10 minutes later because I dreamt that I failed the exam.”

Emily thinks she hears Beca chuckle, but her voice is steady when she mutters, “classic.”

“Beca, where’re we going?” she asks. 

“You’ll see.”

Which is much less than what Emily had been asking for, but it doesn’t seem like Beca’s about to elaborate. 

Not that Emily’s complaining. Throughout this whole year, she’d dreamed of spending alone time with Beca and getting to know her, especially after hearing her legendary sets at the ICCA championships. That dream was brutally squashed when she found out that Beca Mitchell the disaster student was nothing like Beca Mitchell the a capella goddess. She’d hardly given the Bellas much attention, much less Emily, who’d only just come into the circle as an unofficial legacy. 

But since she’d made her big reveal about her internship, Beca’s been different. Less moody. Less distant. She smiles more and actually joins the Bellas during bonding sessions and movie nights. She lets loose during Trebles parties and goofs off during practice. 

And she talks to Emily a lot more. 

While Beca had been quick to realize that she’s a senior and needs to get her life in order before graduation, it’s clear that she’d only just begun to realize that being a senior means anything she does from now on can be considered her “last” time.

Maybe this weird field trip into the woods is a part of that.

“There it is.”

Emily almost bumps into Beca before she snaps out of her daze. Beca’s pointing towards a tree, and Emily has to rub the blurriness from her dry eyes before she can see what’s got her so excited. 

“Oh, what the.” 

It’s a treehouse. 

It looks old and weathered, but it sits solidly in between two sturdy trees, their branches twining in and around the structure as if it had grown with it. There’s a little doorway and small windows and everything, complete with a rope ladder and a small balcony and a haphazard railing. It’s charming and cute, but it’s clearly been quite a few years since it was built. 

“I found it during my freshman year,” Beca explains as she leads Emily towards it. They’re still holding hands. “I used to come here a lot to make mixes and stuff. Well, I could only do that for a few hours until my laptop died.” She gestures to the trees. “No places to plug a charger, obviously.”

“You just…found this place?” Emily asks skeptically. “A ten-minute walk from campus?” 

Beca shrugs. “I used to wander around a lot. Didn’t like the idea of college too much. Walking helped clear my head, and these woods are huge, so I would spend hours just walking around.”

“Did you ever get lost?” Emily asks, feeling a little more awake at the sight of the treehouse. Despite its graying and mossy wood, she can’t deny that she wants to climb up and explore.

“Oh, loads of times.” Beca hands her the rope ladder and holds it steady while Emily climbs up. “I was actually super lost when I found this place, and it was like pitch-black and late as fuck so I just slept here until sunrise.” She ducks through the doorway, Emily following with a little more difficulty, and gestures towards the bare floor.  

“Looks rough.” 

“It was,” she agrees. “But it’s a good place to be. To just relax and shit.” 

Emily ducks back out of the small hut and onto the even smaller balcony. “The ceiling’s a little low, though,” she shrugs, fully expecting Beca’s scoff. 

“Right, I forgot you’re eight feet tall.” 

“Eight foot  _ one _ , excuse me.” 

“Ohoho, the sleep-deprived queen has some sass,” Beca teases, laughing good-naturedly when Emily playfully shoves her shoulder. “Here, come on. Sit down here and relax for a bit.” 

She clears a space on the little balcony and plops herself down, gesturing for Emily to join her. There’s really not much room for them to share, and there’s no way to avoid having their arms brush against each other. 

“Just lean back,” Beca urges, “and relax.” 

It’s hard, with Beca’s arm pressed against hers and thoughts of that stupid exam still swirling in her head, but Emily obliges and leans back against the wall. 

The treehouse isn’t too far off the ground — Emily’s sure she could reach the platform from the ground if she stood on her tiptoes and stretched her arms as far up as they could go — but it’s high enough that it gives them a different vantage point of the forest. The branches rustle in the light breeze and sunlight drifts lazily in through the new spring leaves, giving the soft forest floor a patchwork pattern. 

“This is nice,” Emily whispers, mostly to herself. 

“Pretty peaceful, right?” Beca asks. 

“It’s a good place to think.” 

“And write some songs?” 

Emily gives Beca a smile at her suggestion. “Yeah, that too.” 

“Good. Because I’m gonna need another kick-ass demo ready by next week, so I was hoping you’d get working on another hit.” She snickers when Emily bumps her shoulder against hers. “Kidding.” 

“Better be,” she laughs. “Not that I would mind writing a song for you to produce. Just not…right now.”

“Yeah, this is your stop-overthinking-things time,” Beca agrees. She rummages in her pocket for her earbuds and plugs it into her phone before offering one to Emily. 

They settle into their seats as music begins to play, gazing out into the forest and tapping their fingers along to the beat. They don’t exchange a lot of words, maybe a comment or two about the songs that they listen to. After a while, Emily’s doesn’t stop her eyes from unfocusing, just letting the gentle colors wash over her like a watercolor painting. 

She doesn’t realize she’s falling asleep until she finds her head resting on top of Beca’s; she hadn’t even noticed that Beca had rested her head on Emily’s shoulder. And through the growing fog of sleep, Emily deduces that this is exactly what Beca had planned, that it wasn’t just her passing down her hideaway before she graduates. 

“Beca?” Emily asks, already half-unconscious. 

“Yeah?” 

Even though she started the conversation, she hesitates before saying the words. She wants Beca to know. But she also doesn’t really want to admit this weakness. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Emily mumbles.

Beca doesn’t respond right away, and Emily hopes she didn’t hear. But then she hears a soft laugh and Beca’s hand slips into hers. 

“Gonna miss you too, Em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> I'm a slut for treehouses but I've never been in one so details may be inaccurate. Also I based it purely off the one that's in the Bridge to Terabithia movie so that's your reference.


	17. no sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "can you do a bemily fic based off of the song "My Sunshine OST - No Sunshine" by NyxTheShield OFFICIAL"
> 
> if you sent me this song as a prompt hoping for character death, you’re evil and I’m defying you with all my might so I turned it into a tribute instead

“I want to add a song to the set.”

Beca glances up from the soundboard, holding up one finger towards Emily before she realizes what she’d just said. “Wait. Ex _cuse_ me?”

“I want to add a song to the set,” Emily repeats. She sounds nervous, like she knows Beca’s going to shut her down or argue, but her jaw is set stubbornly. After years of lowkey dating and working together, Beca knows that look and how impossible it is to remove unless Emily gets what she wants.

On a normal day, she finds it kind of cute and endearing, like a ferocious puppy standing its ground against an amused wolf.

But it's the opening night of their tour and the show is starting in less than two hours, Beca’s the only one from the studio that was able to make it for soundcheck to make sure the sound is balanced and mixed right, and there’re already people lining up outside. Emily’s the opening act, for chrissake. Not only are her cues already set and immovable, but she’s not the main performer and the stage crew most likely aren’t about to budge for her last-minute changes.

Bluntly put, Emily’s not popular or famous enough to pull this kind of act.

“That’s gonna be impossible, Legacy,” Beca says testily, reverting back to the nickname from their Bellas era. “These people are on a tight schedule and your set is already…well, set. We have lights and audio cued to a T. You should know this, even your talking points are limited as hell.”

“Yeah, I know,” Emily assures her. “But I was just…just one short song, like just squeezed in where those talking points are. You know?”

Beca trades a glance with the sound tech next to her before unhooking the headphones from around her neck. She hops down from the platform and pulls Emily towards the side. “Look. This isn’t some back-alley stage set,” she says. “It’s a god-fricken stadium, Em. We can’t exactly turn on a dime here.”

“I know,” she repeats. “But it’s just…

“All right, what the hell is up?” Beca snaps, regretting it instantly when Emily flinches at her tone. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this right now. _Why_ is it so important for you to add another song?”

It’s clear that Emily hadn’t planned on elaborating, but tough shit, Beca needs a reason for her uncharacteristic stubbornness during a crucial time. Emily hesitates before sighing. “Do you know what today is?” she asks.

Beca frowns. “ _Yeah_. It’s the first night of the tour, if you haven’t noticed. You can’t be doing stuff like this on the _first night_. You’re only the opener, and you don’t get to have a say in —”

“No, I mean,” Emily interrupts. “Sorry, I don’t want to cut you off, but. That’s not what I…I meant the date.”

Beca knows the date. God, what the hell kind of producer would she be if she didn’t know the date of her most successful client’s debut stadium performance? But obviously Emily’s thinking of another thing, and Beca’s cluttered mind races to associate the date with something significant. Someone’s birthday? Her parents’ anniversary? A record launch date?

“…uh. Yeah. June 12th,” Beca agrees, giving up.

Emily bites her lip nervously. “Yeah, um. I know we’re in Miami…and not…” she pauses to take a deep breath, “…and not Orlando. But I still wanted to do something.”   

June 12th. Orlando. Pulse.

“Oh.” Beca feels like an insensitive ass.

In her defense, she’d been a _tiny_ bit preoccupied considering Theo had ditched her for another client’s show, leaving Beca to fight the stadium’s sound crew on her own. It’s not that she doesn’t care. Of _course_ she cares. But it’s a curveball on an already stressful night and Beca doesn’t even know where to begin pulling strings to make this happen.

She wants to make Emily happy, but goddamnit she also has to be realistic.

“I just…wanted like, a short tribute or something, just 90 seconds. No, maybe two minutes, just to be safe. All I need is a mic and an acoustic guitar,” Emily begs.

Two minutes shouldn’t be a problem to a normal set crew, but Beca had been butting heads with the stadium crew for the entirety of the day. Not eager to start an unwinnable fight but slowly warming up to Emily’s request, she frowns and dares to ask, “What song are you signing?”

The guilty look Emily gives her does _not_ bode well. “Um. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Emily, I swear to god…”

“I promise I’ll have a song ready by the time I go on.”

“Which is in _two_ hours, dude!” She rubs at her temples. “You’re not giving me much of an argument to throw at these guys.”  

“I…I know. And I’m sorry. But please, Beca.” Her voice is small. “It would…mean a lot. To me. And I’m sure to others, too.”  

The stubborn set to her chin is gone, but the pleading pout that replaces it doesn’t make Beca feel any better. She knows Emily doesn’t consciously pout like this to wheedle out a favor; it only appears when she knows she’s asking Beca for the impossible.

She sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Emily smiles like she’d just promised her the world and gives Beca a peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Beca grumbles, unable to hold back the tiny smile that tugs at her mouth.

But that smile is gone _real_ quick.

She finds the lead audio engineer and asks him if it’s possible, but he directs her to the head stage manager instead. The stage manager, in turn, sends her to the program organizer, who brushes her off right back to the audio engineer, and Beca returns to his side with her arms crossed.  
  
“I don’t appreciate being sent in circles,” she bites out. Which is probably not the tone she should’ve used, but he’s already pissed anyway, so she figures it wouldn’t do much to use her polite voice.

Their heated argument draws the attention of the venue staff, who quickly call down their supervisor to settle the dispute. The main performers start their soundcheck right in the middle of their argument, increasing it to a shouting match.

By the time she trudges into Emily’s dressing room, Beca is exhausted to the point that she barely has the energy to admire Emily’s stage outfit.

“You get two minutes,” she says, barging in without even knocking. “The guitar will be stage left, plugged and ready. If you’re gonna talk beforehand, do it while strumming at the volume you’re gonna play at so I can adjust the balance before you actually start singing. The cue for techs to start the audio for the next song will be you putting the guitar back at stage left.” Beca rattles off, too stressed to take in Emily’s growing smile. “Your updated setlist is taped next to the same monitor as the old one, so drill it into your brain while you’re up there, got it?”

Emily jumps out of her chair and tackles Beca in a hug. “Oh my _stars_ , you’re amazing. Thank you thank you thank you _so_ much, Beca.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she groans, briefly losing her breath as Emily’s arms tighten around her ribs. “Augh, take it easy, man. You’re gonna mess up your makeup.”

Emily leans back and raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m not wearing makeup yet.”

“Oh.” Beca blinks. “Oh, well. Shit. Must be the pre-show excitement, then.” She reaches out and touches Emily’s face. “You look beautiful.”

She can feel Emily’s cheek heat up under her palm. “Do not,” she mutters.

Smiling at how freaking adorable Emily is, Beca goes up on her tip-toes and gently kisses her nose. “Do too.”

A harsh rapping on the door has them both jumping a foot in the air. It’s a stage runner telling them that Emily should be ready to go in thirty minutes.

“Tell me you have a song ready,” Beca says, pretending like the stage runner didn’t just scare the living crap out of her.

Her blinding smile almost makes up for the earth-moving effort Beca just went through to make room in her tight setlist. Almost. “Yes,” Emily says. “It’s…well it’s not gonna be easy. Like, you know. Emotionally. But yes.”

“As long as you have a plan.” She straightens Emily’s outfit — a simple black dress that hugs her body in _all_ the right places — and brushes some imaginary dust off the shoulders. “So part of the deal of adjusting your setlist is that I be in the mixing booth so I can take lead for that portion.”

“Oh.” Emily tilts her head. “So you won’t be backstage?”

“I won’t be backstage.”

“Oh,” she says again.

Emily’s only played smaller venues before, but Beca had been backstage for every single performance. She’d always been the last person Emily saw before stepping onto the stage and the first person who hugged her when she finished her set.

It’s a small thing, not at all imperative to how well Emily performs, but Beca knows how much it means to Emily for her to be there.

“It’s worth it, right?” she asks.

There’s a clear hesitation, but Emily nods resolutely. “Yes.”

“Then you got this.”

There’s another knock on the door, much softer this time, and the makeup artists enter.

“I’ll meet you back here after your set, okay?” Beca says, squeezing Emily’s hand. “Break a leg, dude.”

“Thanks,” Emily says breathlessly. “You too.”

Which probably isn’t the best superstition-filled sentiment for them to exchange. Because on her frantic jog to the mixing booth through the winding underground tunnels of the stadium, Beca catches her toe on uneven ground and actually almost breaks her leg.

“You’re late,” is the greeting the head mixing technician gives her as she thunders up the stairs into the booth.

“Actually,” Beca pants, accepting headphones from a much nicer tech, “she has four songs to go through before I’m up, so.”

 _So stuff it,_ are words she holds back with immense difficulty.

She slumps down in a chair and watches as the stage lights slowly turn on to begin Emily’s set.

It’s Beca’s first time watching Emily perform from the front view, save for that one Bellas performance at the aquarium ages ago. Her backstage view had always been close, comforting, and intimate. Out here in the mixing booth, Beca feels more like a spectating fan.

“What’s up Miami!” Emily yells enthusiastically when she finishes her intro song. “How you feelin’ tonight?”

She’s met with thunderous applause. The stadium’s not quite full yet, especially since Emily’s just an opener and it’s a good hour before the main performance starts. But the reaction she receives is more powerful than anything she’d gotten from the smaller venues, and Beca can see her delighted expression even from this distance.

She’s a natural performer. Despite the size of the stage, Emily rocks it like she owns the place, striding up and down both sides with boundless energy and a spring in her step. Even the crabby sound tech is nodding along to her songs, and Beca makes a mental note to tell Emily about his development after the show.

“You’re up soon,” he calls in the midst of Emily’s fourth song, and Beca moves towards the soundboard and glances over at the section she has to manager. It’s really not hard at all, mostly just adjusting the output levels of the mics, and she feels a flash of annoyance at the crew for not taking up this two-minute task.

“So. This next song,” Emily pants into the mic as she walks casually over to the side of the stage to retrieve the guitar. “Might be a little rusty, ‘cause it was put into the set super last-minute. Shout out to my girlf…my girl Beca for that.”

Beca manages to hold back the groan but screws her eyes shut at Emily’s stumble. Emily’s publicist is probably having an aneurysm somewhere backstage.  

Unlike Beca, Emily saves face and easily strums at the guitar like Beca asked her to. “Two years ago today, 49 lives were lost in a place they considered a sanctuary. This is for them.”

Beca raises an eyebrow as Emily starts to play, surprised at the briefness of her introduction. The guitar is a little too loud so she lowers its mic output a little while deepening its tone. She recognizes the song immediately when Emily starts singing, but she doesn’t expect the dark and chilling key change.

 _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_ _  
_ _You make me happy when skies are gray_ _  
_ _You'll never know dear, how much I love you_   
Please don't take my sunshine away

The audience is dead silent and Emily’s voice echoes hauntingly throughout the stadium. The altered melody is a jarring change from the popularized cheerful tune, and the crowd’s reaction makes it clear that, like Beca, literally no one expected this somber version. It’s unsettling and mesmerizing all at once, almost like a siren’s call, and Beca momentarily forgets that she’s supposed to be in charge of mixing the sound.

Not that Emily needs _any_ kind of adjustment.

 _I'll always love you and make you happy_ _  
_ _Cuz you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_ _  
_ _You make me happy when skies are gray_ _  
_ _You'll never know dear, just how much I love you_ _  
_ _Please don't take my sunshine away_  
Please don't take my sunshine away

There’s a good five seconds after the song where no one makes a sound, and it’s obvious from Emily’s bowed head and lack of her usual “thank you!” that she’s holding back tears. Then the applause starts, growing and growing until it’s a deafening roar, punctuated by sharp whistles and encouraging cheers. Beca scans the crowd and catches more than a handful of people rubbing at their eyes. Emily looks up slowly and smiles at the crowd, wiping hastily at her face. The volume of the applause increases significantly at her smile.

“You’re…you’re up,” Beca tells the sound tech quietly. He nods numbly, evidently as stunned as she is, and rolls his chair over to the soundboard as Emily moves to return the guitar to the side of the stage. He starts the next song right on cue.

Finished with her part, Beca goes back down the stairs into the underground tunnels and makes her way back to Emily’s dressing room.

Before she even makes a single turn in the confusing maze of hallways, she changes her mind and sprints towards the stage instead. Emily only has two songs left in her set, so Beca runs as fast as she can through the narrow and occasionally crowded hallways, hating how quickly her lungs begin to burn.

She makes it backstage just as Emily is wrapping up her last song, the most recent single that’s playing on the radio. It’s a totally different vibe from the cover, and the crowd is singing along with just as much energy as Emily.

When she finishes and thanks the crowd, they’re going insane in a way Beca’s never experienced from an opening act before. But when Emily turns to walk off the stage and sees Beca, her smile defies all laws of physics and grows even bigger.

“You made it!” she exclaims, embracing Beca so enthusiastically she lifts her clear off her feet.

“Whoa, Jesus. Yeah, I had to sprint, but I’m here.”

Emily suddenly seems to remember _why_ Beca wasn’t here to begin with, and the performance high visibly dissipates. She lowers Beca to the ground but doesn’t let go. “How was it?” she asks, face buried in Beca’s hair.

“It was amazing,” she says honestly. “I mean, definitely depressing, but amazing. You were right to fight for it.”

When Emily pulls away, there’re tears in her eyes and Beca panics. But then she’s smiling and pulling Beca up by the collar of her shirt and into a searing kiss.

“It was definitely worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX  
> fic song: No Sunshine - NyxTheShield
> 
> prompts at http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	18. vampire au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Can you do a supernatural AU bemily fic? Vampires or werewolfs maybe?"
> 
> at first I was like ehhhh bc I grew out of sci-fi/fantasy but then I was like...becas already a goddamn vampire bitch how hard could this be

The fact that none of the Bellas notice says a lot about the kind of person Beca Mitchell is.

Or _was_.

She’s always been a night owl, sleeping all day and rolling out of bed when the sun sets, so no one bats an eye when Beca’s sleep cycle turns strictly nocturnal.

She’s always had a shit diet, surviving off of sporadic junk food binges, so no one questions her sudden lack of participation at meals and food-related get-togethers.

She’s always avoided the sun because of her paleness and susceptibility to sunburn, so no one thinks twice about how she starts covering every inch of her skin with some kind of clothing when she’s dragged out into the sun.

And she’s always been immersed in music. Making music, arranging music, mixing music, etc. The Bellas are all in love with music, but they know that their love combined could never compare to Beca’s. So no one realizes when her hobby turns into a frantic obsession of counting beats and playing with numbers.

It’d been terrifying at first, when she woke up from a wild night out with the Bellas at a club downtown to find that someone or some _thing_ had bitten her when she was blackout drunk. The lights were brighter and the sun was hotter, but it was the intense craving for a salty beverage that weirded her out the most. Assuming it was just a bad hangover or some kind of infection-induced fever from whoever the fuck decided to bite her damn neck, Beca brushed off all the symptoms for a good week and a half.

Until it was clear that something was _definitely_ up, and after several doctor’s visits, a sketchy session with the local psychic, and hours upon hours of internet research, she finally accepted the fact that maybe she might no longer be human.

As weird as it was to finally put two and two together and come out with “vampire,” Beca honestly just shrugged and carried on with life. It’s not as bad as the folklore made it out to be; like she could still go outside during the day and not burst into flame as long as her skin is covered, and she could still see herself in the mirror to get ready for her internship and Bella’s performances. All the other setbacks were basically setbacks to her when she was human, so it doesn’t hold her back in the slightest.

And although she thought the others, especially Chloe, would notice how off she’d been since that night out, none of them comment on any changes. After years of living together, the Bellas comfortably assume that they have each other figured out and fails to realize that Beca turned into a literal vampire.

Which is like, totally fine on Beca’s part.

Until Emily.

Curious, wide-eyed, and interested in anything and everything that has to do with Beca, the freshman is the biggest threat to her supernatural secret yet. There’s no malicious or intrusive intent behind Emily’s interest; she’s just an innocent ball of sunshine who wants to know _everything_ about Beca, which wouldn’t have been easy for her to disclose even if she were still human.

“Whoa, you _just_ woke up?” She asks with amazement the first time she sees Beca trudge downstairs into the Bella’s living room at 6pm.

“Whoa, you’re _still_ up?” She whispers with confusion the first time she sees Beca awake at 4am in the Bella’s kitchen.

“You’re not coming with us?” She’s always the first to ask when the Bellas plan an outdoorsy trip and Beca rejects the invitation.

“How can you not like garlic bread?” She points out during the middle of dinner one outing, which is probably the only instance where the Bellas agree and wonder what’s up. Beca Mitchell the human had loved garlic bread. Now she isn’t the biggest fan.

Emily’s the only one who brings to light all the abnormalities in Beca’s behavior, all the traits the Bellas have grown accustomed to and filed under “typical Mitchell shenanigans.” And it doesn’t worry Beca too much because, like, who the hell is going to deduce that she’s a friggen vampire? But at the same time, she get an uneasy feeling from all the observations Emily’s making.

After keeping it a secret for over a year, Beca’s almost sure that she’s going to slip up in the stupidest way by answering Emily’s question too honestly or revealing a little too much. Either that, or this inquisitive freshman’s just gonna put it all together on her own.

And she eventually does.

The final piece that helps Emily figure it out is a trait Beca didn’t even _know_ belonged to vampires. She’d just assumed it was one of those heightened senses that came with the transformation.

“How’re you so good at that?” Emily asks her in the studio, watching Beca scribble down notes on a blank piece of sheet music. “You’re like, scarily good at counting out these measures.” They’re secretly recording ‘Flashlight’ at Beca’s internship while her boss is out of town for a meeting, and when she sees that Emily’s having trouble keeping tempo without some kind of sheet music to guide her, Beca pulls out a stack of sheets printed with empty staves.

Most people use online arrangement programs that count out the beats automatically so none of the measures have an extra note or rest, but Beca’s too impatient to click in every single note into the program. It’s faster to just write everything down, and she knows for a fact that her counting is right every time.

“It’s just simple math,” Beca shrugs,

“Yeah, but this part’s in 6/8.”

“For like, two measures,” Beca sniffs. “Here, this should help.” She passes the finished sheet music to Emily, who scans the scribbled-in notes with wonder.

“That was so quick. Like five minutes. You’re like a vampire,” she says with a giggle, and Beca freezes.

“Wh…wh-how so?”

“There’s a lore that says vampires like to count. You never wondered why the Count from Sesame Street is the one who’s obsessed with numbers?”

“No, did _you?_ ”

“Well, _yeah_ , I mean, vampires are usually portrayed as killers, not mathematicians. So I got curious and googled it.”

Which is absurd and Beca would find it kind of precious if she wasn’t about to have a panic attack. Not noticing the senior’s sudden apprehension, Emily continues on.

“You’re also like, totally nocturnal. Like your sleep cycle is the exact opposite of mine. And you don’t eat garlic bread…and…” Emily frowns and Beca’s panic grows. “You…don’t like going out in the sun…”

Of all the times her poker face would’ve come in handy, this is by far the most important one. And yet, when Emily peers curiously over at her, Beca feels herself go absolutely white with fear.

Emily’s eyes widen. “Wait, what? _Are_ you?”

She should just laugh it off and tell her she’s being ridiculous, but no one had ever asked her directly like this and Beca never thought about how to brush it off should someone ask her. “Am…am I what?” she shoots back, trying to make it sound like Emily’s jumping to conclusions. But her voice wavers with fear and it comes out more like a confession than anything.

Emily doesn’t respond. She just stares at Beca, waiting for the punchline, maybe wanting it, knowing that her question was more than clear.

And then the time to play it off is gone and realization dawns on Emily’s face, probably figuring that Beca’s not the type to stretch out a joke like this. Then suddenly she’s rolling her chair right up against Beca’s, popping her personal bubble, and pushing Beca’s hair away from her neck.

“Oh, my god.”

“Wait, Emily, that’s not —”

“Ohhh, my god.”

“— what you think, that’s just —”

“I always thought it was just a…I dunno, like a birthmark or something,” Emily says, scooting back and staring at Beca. “But those are… _teeth_ marks.”   

Beca swallows nervously. _How do I play this off? Can I just make a hickey joke? Is it too late? Would she buy it?_

“And _don’t_ say that’s a hickey,” Emily says, and Beca snaps her mouth shut.

She rubs at the spot self-consciously. “I…woke up with it about a year ago. I don’t remember it happening; I was black-out drunk at a club so maybe that’s where I got it.”

“And you became…a vampire?”

“I…yeah. Guess so.” It sounds super unconvincing and Beca can’t help but to grimace. “It’s…okay, yeah, it sounds stupid and it’s totally cool if you don’t believe me, so —”

“No, I believe you,” Emily cuts in. Her tone is serious but incredibly casual, like this is a completely normal occurrence.

“Seriously?”  Beca asks with disbelief. “Just like that? And you’re not…like…?”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “Scared?”

Beca nods.

“Should I be?” Emily asks honestly.

Beca pauses but ultimately shakes her head.

“Then no, I’m not scared.”

“Really? That’s all it takes to convince you?”

“Well, I dunno. I trust you.”

Beca stares at her, wanting to laugh at how naive this girl is. “ _Why?_ ”

Emily shrugs. “Because you’re Beca. And I mean, if you wanted to kill me and suck out my blood, you’ve had plenty of opportunities, right?”

“I could just be waiting for the right time,” Beca says.

“Oh. I guess.” Emily scrunches up her nose and taps her pencil against the sheet music. “Do you even drink blood? Have you killed anyone?”

“Would you be scared if I answered ‘yes’ to both?”

“It depends on the situation.”

“ _What?_ Holy crap, dude. You’re such a weirdo,” Beca says, and she can’t believe that there’s an actual smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Why would the situation matter whether I kill someone?”

“Well, like. You know, if you _have_ to drink blood to survive and you _have_ to drain the person you drink from, then it’s not really your fault, you just can’t help it. So I wouldn’t be scared.” Emily’s tone sounds so matter-of-fact and light that Beca still can’t really tell if she believes her story or not. “But if you kill for fun, then yeah, I’d probably be scared. You don’t seem like the type, though.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, that’s a compliment,” Emily giggles.

She actually _giggles_ , and Beca loses her words for a minute. “You’re…unbelievable.”

“You’re one to talk, vampire.”  

“ _How_ do you buy all of this so quickly? I could literally just be pulling your leg,” she says, throwing up her hands. “I’ve given you no proof to work with.”

“Uh, yeah, you have.” Emily holds up the sheet music and waves it around. “This is more than enough evidence. Also, I think I saw you burn yourself with the kitchen silverware last week, so…"

Beca shakes her head slowly. Part of her is relieved that the secret’s out to at least one person, but another part of her is in utter shock that Emily doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. She’d expected at least a little bit of fear. Maybe some concern. At the very least, some level of denial or suspicion.

But now Emily’s smiling at her, eyes shining bright with curiosity. “So? _Do_ you drink blood? Do you have to kill to feed? Oh, oh! Do you have _powers_ ? Like, super strength? Super speed? Can you turn into a _bat?_ ”

“Okay, let’s dial it back a notch.” Beca snatches the sheet music out of Emily’s hands and presses against the freshman’s face. “Get your butt back in the booth and let’s finish recording this, okay? We can discuss this afterwards.”

Emily gives her a little salute. “Roger that. I owe you one demo, you owe me one vampire discussion.” She winks and hops back into the booth, leaving Beca smiling like an idiot behind the soundboard.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> prompts at http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	19. vampire au pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I KNOW U ACTUALLY J U S T POSTED IT but maybe vampire au pt 2? it’s so good"
> 
> me, trying to worldbuild in a one-shot: uhhhhhh  
> me, trying to worldbuild in a two-shot: UHHHHH

“Okay, wait here.” 

Beca tears her eyes away from a sketchy looking guy leering at her from the back of the bar and gives Emily a pat on the arm, putting her beer down on the sticky counter. She gives the freshman a reassuring look, understanding that she’s less than comfortable.

“Just call out if you need me, I’m literally gonna be twenty feet away.”

“But what if my kidnapper covers my mouth?” Emily asks, eyes shifting nervously around the bar. Not only is she glaringly underage, but the other patrons don’t look the least bit friendly. Everyone looks rough, dirty, and mean. The two of them are clearly the youngest people in the building. 

But Beca looks at ease. “Already planning to get kidnapped?” 

Emily shakes her head silently, fidgeting nervously with her glass of Coke. 

“We can go, if you want,” Beca says in a low mutter, turning her back on the guy. 

“No, no.” Emily says a little too quickly. “I-I mean…I’ll be okay. I asked for it, anyway.”

Beca nods and offers a small smile. “I promise I’ll be right back. Three minutes tops.” 

Emily mirrors her smile. “Okay.”

With one last pat of her arm, Beca slides off her stool and beelines straight for the guy she’s been eyeing for the past few minutes. He’s tall, lean, and totally creepy-looking. The predatory smile on his face grows as Beca approaches, and Emily feels her uneasiness grow. 

Beca’s just so small compared to this guy.

_ If you really believe she’s a vampire, she’ll be fine _ , she tells herself, sipping at her soda to look busy.  _ I mean, she probably is, right? She wouldn’t go through all this trouble to drag out a prank, would she? She wouldn’t put herself in danger to make me look like a gullible idiot, would she? _

She’s the one who wanted more. The senior was only showing Emily what she’d asked to see. 

Beca saunters up to the guy and they exchange a few words. Emily watches with bated breath as the pair move off even further into the shadows of the bar, to a dark corner by the bathrooms. The conversations of the other patrons and the obnoxious group of men watching the football game on the grainy TV behind the counter make too much noise for Emily to hear what Beca’s saying to him. Judging by the way he hunches over Beca to put his ear by her mouth, he’s probably having trouble hearing her, too. 

Then suddenly she’s pushing the guy against the wall and pressing herself flush against him, and Emily doesn’t know if she should keep watching or not. Heat floods to her cheeks at the sight of Beca — tiny, moody, awkward Beca — dominating this guy who looked like a serial killer not two seconds ago. She goes straight for his neck and buries her face there, and Emily looks around the bar fearfully, wondering if anyone notices what’s happening. 

But no one pays them any mind. Even if they cared to look over at the pair, they would just see a handsy couple hooking up in a dark corner. 

Emily has to remind herself that Beca’s doing this as a demonstration, that she’s not actually hooking up with this stranger, that she’s literally drinking this guy’s blood. 

It certainly doesn’t look that way, but that’s probably Beca’s intention. 

But then it’s over and they’re breaking apart and Beca’s shoving him away when he leans in for more. She says something to him and points towards the bathrooms, and without another word, he slinks past her and into the dark hallway. 

“That was…intense,” Emily says hesitantly as Beca returns to the counter. There’s not a hint of blood or redness on her lips, and Emily can’t help but wonder if she even went through with the whole blood-sucking thing.  

“Was it?” She shrugs and sips at her beer, swishing it around as if to wash away a bad taste. 

“Yeah, you were all, like,” Emily wiggles her fingers, “sexy and stuff.”

Beca chokes a little around her bottle, turning red. “Wh-…well, what did you expect? I can’t just go up to a guy and bite his neck.” 

“That’s kinda what it looked like you did.” 

“That’s because you didn’t hear what I said.” She rubs the back of her neck, looking embarrassed. “It’s like a…persuasion thing. I just say the right words and they kinda just go along with it.” 

And despite her antsiness and the seedy environment, Emily finds her excitement rising as Beca reveals yet another aspect of her vampire side. 

“Ohh! You can control  _ minds _ ?”

“N-no, not like that. Like I said, it’s like persuading someone to do something.” She motions to the bouncer by the door. “Why do you think he let you in without an ID when all I said was ‘she’s with me’?”

“I dunno, I mean. This seems like a pretty lawless place. So I didn’t think rules applied.” 

Beca stares at her. “Guess you have a fair point.”

“Well, what did you say to him?” Emily presses, glancing towards the bathrooms. The guy still hasn’t come out, and she wonders if Beca told him to stay there for the rest of the night.

Beca shrugs nonchalantly, but she blushes again. “Nothing important. Just…things. Things he wants. Or thinks he wants.” 

“Like what?”

She gives Emily an amused look. “How about I tell you when you’re older?”  

“Oh.” She tightens her lips and looks down at her soda, feeling naive and stupid.  _ Of  _ course _ that’s the kind of stuff she would say to him. Why else would he happily let her near his neck?  _ “S-so how does it work?” Emily asks, not wanting to dwell on what Beca might’ve said to the guy, “Do you just bite super hard and hope they don’t notice you breaking skin and drinking their blood? Or do you just mind-control them to ignore it? Or…or! Do you have fangs that are like, little straws that can stick into someone’s vein and suck up the blood?”

“Oh, my god.” Beca laughs, shaking her head. “Dude, no. It’s really not that complicated.” She opens her mouth a little and pushes back her lip to show Emily her two canine teeth. At first glance they look normal, but when she peers closer, she sees that they’re larger and longer than average. “They’re sharp as hell,” she explains. “Cuts right through skin. Pretty painlessly, judging by everyone’s lack of reaction.”

“Really?”

“Wanna feel?”  

“Uh.” Emily gulps, suddenly realizing that she’s been staring at Beca’s mouth. “Uhhhhh.”

“Hey, you wanted this discussion, remember?” Beca teases, and ignoring the look on her face, she takes Emily’s hand and brings it up to her mouth. “You’re not wimping out on me, are you?” 

_ It’s just a tooth. Juuuuust a tooth. Don’t overthink it, Emily. It’s just a…wow, that’s sharp tooth. _

“This doesn’t cut your mouth?” she asks, gently pressing her finger against the tip of the tooth. 

“Uh-uh,” Beca responds, keeping her mouth open. It almost feels like the tip of a knife, and Emily’s sure that if she increases the pressure by even the slightest amount, it would cut into her skin. 

She tries her best to think about anything but the fact that her finger is in Beca’s mouth. 

Beca pulls her head back a little, out of reach. “This is really weird, huh?”

Emily quickly withdraws her hand. “Yeah, kinda.” 

“Sorry.” She grabs at her beer again and takes an uncomfortable sip. “I just, uh. Haven’t really told anyone about this stuff. It’s nice to be able to show someone all the weird shit I’ve been hiding.” She grimaces. “Sorry if I like. Freak you out with all this stuff. It’s a miracle you’re humoring me at all.” 

“Oh, no,” Emily amends, “I mean, yeah, it’s weird. But it’s cool. Like,  _ super _ cool.” She gives Beca what she hopes looks like a friendly smile. “You’re not freaking me out at all.” 

But then a group of men loom out of the shadows and tower behind them, leering down and standing too close. The tallest, a bald, heavy set man with face tattoos and countless piercings, leans on the counter next to Emily. 

And now she’s majorly freaking out. 

“You ladies looking to join us for a few drinks?” he says, giving them a wide, toothy smile. Emily feels her stomach flip before curling in itself. There’re four of them, all muscle-y and tattooed and pierced and scary-looking, and Emily can’t help but to move instinctively towards Beca. 

Beca grabs Emily’s hand and fixes them in an unimpressed glare before giving them a flat, “No.” 

And that’s all it takes. The bald man’s smile falls to the floor, as does everyone else’s. He doesn’t push, insist, or argue like Emily expected him to; they just turn on their heels and stumble back to their table. 

“Let’s go,” Beca says softly, tugging at Emily’s hand and leading them out of the bar.

She doesn’t slow down until they’re back near Barden’s campus, and Emily struggles to keep up despite her longer legs. “Did you just do your mind control thingy at him?” she asks, a little breathless from how fast they’re walking. 

“It's  _ not _ mind control,” Beca says exasperatedly, less humor in her voice than before.

“Well, did you mind-persuade-thing at him?” 

“Maybe.”

They’re only a few block away from the Bella’s house when she finally lets go of Emily’s hand. 

“Why do you go all the way across town to such a sketchy bar?” Emily asks. “Wouldn’t a frat party be just as hectic and raunchy for no one to realize what you’re doing?”

“Because those bars are the kind of places that don’t ask questions,” Beca shrugs. “Like you said. A place without rules. A party, even a frat party, has its rules and its people.”

“But you don’t kill when you…feed, do you?”

Beca holds back a smile at Emily’s word choice. “Hardly. I probably don’t even take enough to get them light-headed. But I don’t want to be careless, you know? Better safe than sorry.” 

Biting strangers in such a dangerous-looking place like that bar seems anything but safe, but it’s really not Emily’s place to judge. She’s the one who cowered from those men while Beca faced them with absolute calmness.

“Do you  _ have  _ to?” Emily asks tentatively. “I mean. Like, do you  _ have _ to drink…?” 

“Blood? You can say ‘blood,’ Em. It’s not a curse word.” 

“Blood,” she finishes. 

“I don’t…know. There’s a lot of shit I really don’t know, so I can’t tell you for sure.” Beca lowers her voice as they enter the house. “But it’s more like a craving, I guess. It’s not like water; I don’t die if I go a week without it.”

“You’ve gone a week without it?”

“A few months, actually, yeah.” 

They sneak through the silent house up to Beca’s room, peering up the stairs to make sure Amy’s out before turning on the lights. 

“How’re you so cool with all of this?” Emily blurts out, unable to stop herself. “I mean, like. You’re a  _ vampire _ . You suck  _ blood _ and control  _ minds _ . Sorry,  _ persuade _ minds. Why are you so…why does it seem like you don’t care?”

Beca furrows her brows and frowns. “Uh. I dunno. Maybe because it hasn’t really hit me yet? Honestly it’s not that big a deal, like the side effects are so minor that not even Chloe picked up on them. Books and movies really hype up the whole ‘turning into a vampire’ thing, in my opinion.”

“So you’re just gonna roll with it?”

“Well what else can I do, man? Not like there’s a cure, right?”

“Did you try looking for one?”

Beca pauses. “Uh. Hm. No, not really. I just figured it was kind of irreversible.” She squints at Emily. “Who’s even heard of a vampire cure in  _ lore _ ? That’s not even a real thing in the world of fiction.” 

“Hey, you never know what science can do.” 

Beca just scoffs and eyes Emily’s yawn. “Oh, so now there’s science involved in all this? You look  _ exhausted _ , dude.”

Emily nods in agreement. Their recording session at Beca’s internship seems like it was years and not hours ago. “Yeah, it’s been a long day of discoveries.” 

“I’ll say.” Beca pushes the laundry on her bed into the closet. “Just sleep here. I’m not gonna be using that bed anytime soon anyway.” 

“What’re you gonna do?”

Beca jabs her thumb towards her desk. “Got some Worlds stuff I need to wrap up. Maybe research some vampire cures.” 

Emily narrows her eyes. “You’re mocking me now, but when we’re all in our thirties and you still look like you’re twelve, you’re gonna want it.”

“Wow, that was low.” 

“Like you always will be.” 

“All right, I’m not a fan of tired Emily. She’s mean.” 

Emily just hums in response, crawling under the covers and shooting Beca a tired smile. “Thanks. For opening up to me about all this. And for bringing me along and showing me your…blood-sucking side.

“Yeah, that was a pretty shitty outing,” Beca laughs, turning off the light and flipping open her laptop. “I owe you a better date next time.” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Emily mutters, but before Beca can turn to her with a raised eyebrow, she’s fast asleep, face buried in Beca’s pillow.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl I kinda dig this more as platonic bemily than romantic
> 
> hmu: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	20. the puppy loophole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Emily and Beca made an agreement that they’re not going to have a dog. So Emily brings home a puppy"
> 
> 80% of this is like...pre-puppy shenanigans so my apologies

Everything changes after the USO tour. 

After spending three years shuffling around miserably in their respective ruts, the Bellas return home from Europe with a fresh outlook and a hopeful attitude. Maybe it was because Fat Amy inherited a fortune or because Beca fell into fame or because Chloe found love in the form of a hot soldier, but the trip gave them all something to look forward to in life. 

Or maybe it was just the shared trauma from the boat explosion that made them appreciate what they have and what they could lose. 

Whatever it was, they each managed to pull themselves out of their ruts and carry on in a new direction. Fat Amy is the first to move out of the apartment, booking a one-way ticket to Australia with no plans of what to do there or when she’ll return. Beca is next, packing up her stuff as soon as she returns from DJ Khaled’s tour and leaving the apartment for Chloe and Chicago to handle. 

Though the sun and Beca Mitchell are sworn enemies, she moves to Miami to be close to Khaled’s record label. Theo assures her that it’s the best choice, since travelling back and forth from New York on a weekly basis is hardly logical, but Beca hates the heat and the beachy tourists and how empty her apartment feels without two insane Bellas constantly heckling her. 

“Why don’t you, I dunno, get a dog or something?” Theo suggests one day. “You live in a nice, pet-friendly apartment, don’t you? With a courtyard and everything?” 

“Dude, I’m too busy for a dog,” Beca huffs. “I don’t need a tiny creature depending on my time and effort.” 

“All right, then. Get a roommate. You’ve got a spare bedroom, right?”

Which is easier said than done, considering all the people Beca can tolerate as a roommate (the Bellas) are busy either settling down or carving out a new path in their lives. And understandably, no one chose Miami as their endgame. 

But then one day towards the end of the summer, Beca gets a call from none other than the recently graduated Emily Junk, looking to move to Miami for a year-long psych program that her past internship had recommended her for. 

“Plus, I was thinking of applying to a few grad schools in that area next year, so it would all work out!” 

And Beca would be lying if she said she wasn’t dying to have a roommate again. The crew at the studio — even weirdos like Theo — are fun people to hang out with and bounce ideas off of, but they don’t have the same spontaneously chaotic energy that the Bellas do. She’d slowly been slipping back into a rut, but hopefully, living with Emily will give her a ladder to climb the fuck back out. 

“There you go. And that’s killing two birds with one stone.” Theo remarks when Beca tells him about taking a day off to help Emily move in. 

She raises an eyebrow. “What two birds?” 

“Well, Emily’s your songwriter friend, right? You’d be getting rid of that loneliness and…” Theo reaches over to Beca’s desk and taps the open notebook Beca sometimes scribbled on when attempting to write original lyrics, “…We all know you could use a little boost in this department, too.” 

And while Beca wants to whip out a retort about how many departments  _ he _ needs a boost in, she knows that he’s right; while she’s collaborated with other artists and worked on countless tracks with Theo and the other producers, she hasn’t actually produced any of her own material since moving to Miami. 

But she recalls Emily saying that she hasn’t really written anything since ‘Flashlight,’ so Beca’s not so sure she’d be  _ that _ lucky. 

Then the day comes when Emily’s due to move in, and Beca shoves all the boxes Emily had shipped over into the spare bedroom and goes out grocery shopping to cook a meal for once. By the time Emily arrives with her suitcase and hamster cage, the whole apartment smells like baked ziti and garlic bread. 

Emily tackles Beca in a hug as soon as she opens the door. 

“This is so awesome!” she says, practically lifting Beca off her feet. 

Through her restricted lungs, Beca manages a laugh. “You haven’t even seen the apartment.” 

“Yeah, but living with you! In Miami! That’s awesome enough!”

She’d forgotten just how optimistic and sunny Emily could be. 

After a short tour around the apartment, they dig into the boxes for some heavy-duty unpacking, with Beca simultaneously trying to help with organizing while finishing up dinner preparations. After a solid few hours, she slumps down on the couch next to Emily with two glasses of wine. 

“I’ll do the rest tomorrow,” Emily sighs, peering into her new room where unopened boxes are still visible. “All the important stuff is unpacked.” 

Beca hums in agreement and sinks further into the couch, exhausted but undeniably happy to have someone to share a glass of wine with. 

“Okay, while we’re resting, I should go over a few ground rules…if that’s cool,” Beca adds, not wanting this to sound so business-like. “This building’s pretty strict on recycling, so that —” she points to the blue bin in the kitchen “— is for bottles and cans, and that —” she points to the crate next to it “— is for paper and cardboard. None of that throw-everything-in-the-garbage nonsense we had with the Bella’s, got it?”

“Got it,” Emily says, nodding seriously. 

“That garbage disposal jams easily, so don’t stick like, an entire meatloaf down there.” 

“Makes sense.”

“I shower in the morning before work, so if you do too, we need to —”

“I shower at night, so that works out.”

Beca smiles. “Perfect.” 

“See, we got this down,” Emily says, crinkling her nose. 

“And one last thing,” Beca says, pointing at Tupac’s cage, temporarily situated on the living room floor. “We’re both too busy to take care of anything more than a hamster or fish, and there’s really no room for another cage or a tank. So no more rodents. No fish. No dogs. No cats. No rabbits.” Beca counts off on her fingers, unsure of whether she covered all of the domesticated animals but hoping Emily gets the hint. 

“Not even a snake?” Emily suggests. She smiles brightly at Beca’s expression. “Kidding.”

“Hilarious,” Beca deadpans. “Also made a welcome dinner, if you’re hungry.” 

“What! No way, that’s too sweet of you.” 

And it turns out that living with Emily is the greatest friggen decision Beca’s ever made. 

Unlike Fat Amy and Chloe, who constantly invaded her personal space and belongings, Emily knows her boundaries and actually respects them. She understands that Beca needs her alone time but also picks up on signs that say she wants Emily around to keep her company. They fall into an easy pattern of work and hanging out on evenings and weekends, doing low-key activities like marathoning TV shows or jamming on Emily’s guitar. 

True to Theo’s words, Emily provides monumental alleviation to Beca’s musical block. She’d been writing and completing songs ever since the end of the USO tour, and through their relaxed jam sessions, Beca’s able to pull together enough material for a few solid demos. 

“This is some good stuff, Beca,” Theo compliments after listening through all the songs. “I’m guessing having a songwriting roommate is really paying off.” 

“Better than a dog would, yeah,” she scoffs. 

“Well, I’m happy for you. You look…better. Less depressed.”

“Gee, thanks.”  

Satisfied with the songs, Theo encourages her to take the rest of the day off before they start recording for real tomorrow. “Hey, and uh. Feel free to bring in Emily one of these days,” he calls after her. “I’d love to talk to her about all this stuff. And officially meet her, of course.” 

Beca feels like a thousand bucks as she hops on the train back to her apartment. She stops by the diner a few blocks away and orders Emily’s favorite marble cheesecake, already planning out a grocery list in her head for a celebratory dinner. She skips out of the elevator, wondering if she should just take Emily out to a nice restaurant instead… 

…and freezes over. Because as soon as she puts her key in the lock, a series of sharp, high-pitched yaps erupt behind the door, punctuated by desperate shushing and sounds of a struggle. 

Beca bursts in just in time to see Emily sitting in the middle of the living room before she whirls around impossibly fast to turn her back to Beca. But even with her hands out of view, Beca can tell that she’s struggling to hold onto whatever’s in her arms. 

“Emily?” she starts, pitching her voice dangerously low. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“What’s that you’re holding?”

Emily looks over her shoulder at Beca, forcing a tight smile. “Nothing.” 

“Oh? Then turn around.” 

“Um.”

“Turn around, Emily.”

After a long pause, Emily wrestles with whatever’s in her arms and slowly swivels around on her butt to face Beca. Her hands are empty, but there’s a conspicuous lump in her hoodie. “See? Nothing.” 

But then the lump wiggles upwards and out pops a tiny, furry head from the collar of her hoodie, bumping against Emily’s chin. It’s a golden retriever puppy, and Beca stares at it for a second before closing her eyes. 

“Emily.” 

She tries to poke the puppy back into her hoodie, but it yaps again and tries to wiggle out. “Okay, this…isn’t what it looks like.”  

“Yeah, uh huh. Did you…did you honestly think you could hide it from me?” She points to Emily’s sweater. “Like  _ that? _ ” 

“I was going to tell you, I swear. I didn’t think…that you’d be home so early.” She giggles when it licks at her chin. “His name’s Jackson, but I was thinking of changing it to something else. Oh! Is that a cheesecake from the diner?” 

“Emily.” Beca hopes she sounds stern and disapproving. 

“Okay, okay, I know. But you said no  _ dogs _ ,” Emily says. There’s only the barest trace of guilt in her eyes. “So…I got a puppy.”  

Beca crosses her arms and frowns down at them, receiving identical puppy-dog eyes from the both of them. From the puppy, it’s an expected look. But from Emily… 

“You  _ know _ that’s not what I meant,” she snaps, struggling to keep a smile off her face.  

“Yeah, but…” Emily tucks in her chin and kisses the top of Jackson’s head, and Beca almost loses it right there. “…isn’t he  _ so _ cute?”

Her response gets stuck in her throat. Because yes, the puppy is cute; he’s adorable, really, especially sticking out of Emily’s hoodie like that. But what’s even cuter is Emily, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a hoodie and sweatpants, giggling uncontrollably as the puppy starts attacking her with kisses. 

It hits Beca  _ hard _ , then, just how goddamn adorable Emily is. 

Emily takes Beca’s hesitation as affirmation and gives her a huge smile. “See? I knew you’d like him too.” 

“I-…n-no, dude. I just…” Beca takes a deep breath and readjusts her frown. “We can’t…who’s gonna take care of him? We’re both out for at least eight hours every day.” 

“I um. Miiiiiight’ve asked Mrs. Patterson down the hall if she’d be willing to dogsit. You know, take him out on walks and stuff while we’re gone.” The puppy wiggles in Emily’s hoodie and she giggles again, and Beca has to look away so her serious expression doesn’t break. “She said she’d love to. The only payment she’s willing to accept are my snickerdoodles and your cajun potato salad.” 

Beca shakes her head slowly. “You are unbelievable.” 

“Oh, come on, Beca,” Emily says, hopping to her feet. “You can’t look at that face and say no.” She brings Jackson’s head right up to Beca, close enough for him to lick excitedly at her nose. 

“Blegh. Gross. I can definitely say no to that,” Beca says, wiping away the saliva. But then she looks up and Emily’s smile is a literal inch away and her heart leaps into her throat. She looks down at Jackson’s sleepy eyes and her heart melts back down to her chest in a puddle.

“Please?” Emily begs. 

And Beca can’t handle anymore from this girl and the smile finally breaks free onto her face. “Fine,” she says, trying to sound at least a little reluctant. 

“Yeeeees! You hear that, buddy? You’re here to stay!” Emily shouts excitedly at the puppy, causing him to return her excitement with happy yapping. “You gotta thank Beca!” she says, holding Jackson up to her face again so he can slobber all over her cheek. 

“Oh, ew. Okay, that’s totally not necessary.” 

Then Emily leans in and presses a kiss to Beca’s other cheek. “And that one’s from me,” she says, beaming. “Come on, we gotta pick out a good name for him!” She runs to her room, motioning for Beca to follow. 

Numb with shock, Beca chokes out a response that she hopes sounded like words. Heart pounding wildly, she drifts to the fridge to put away the cheesecake. There’s clearly no way they’re gonna be able to leave a puppy alone in their apartment tonight, so she grabs a bunch of takeout menus off the fridge before following Emily to her room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts at http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	21. the puppy loophole pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "When Beca agreed to keep the puppy with Emily, she didn’t think the puppy would sleeping in her room and chewing on her socks would be part of the deal."
> 
> Part 2 was already 85% done when I got this prompt, so I kinda just slipped parts of it in between the lines. Also this got ridiculously long and took off in a very unexpected direction so
> 
> This chap is also for @Gohandinhand, who requested more puppy fluff to alleviate the suffering of a fam vacay which I can totally empathize with

Things drastically turn domestic with the introduction of a puppy into the apartment.

With a creature dependent on their presence in order to eat and go to the bathroom, both of them start spending more time in the apartment than they ever have before.

Beca’s life practically revolves around the little bugger now, rushing her morning shower so she can take him out for a quick lap around the apartment complex and rushing back from work in the evening so she can take him out again. Emily’s schedule has longer hours and tends to be a little more unpredictable, so unless she gets home early from her program, Beca’s on puppy duty.

Emily insists on changing the Jackson’s name to Buddy after the retriever from the movie _Air Bud_ , and she refuses to budge no matter how much Beca tries to convince her that ‘Buddy’ is too generic of a name.

“Neither of us even play basketball, Emily.”

“That’s okay, we’ll just teach him the basics.”

Buddy is a curious and hyperactive puppy, always ready for a walk and constantly seeking attention. There isn’t a single possession between the two of them that he hasn’t chewed through or at least nibbled at, and Beca’s socks seem to be his go-to chew toys. He’s an insufferable little demon, always up to no good, but Beca finds it difficult to not smile whenever he trots happily over to her, tail wagging.

Buying new socks every week seems like a high price for keeping a puppy, but Emily apologizes profusely on Buddy’s behalf and treats her to coffee whenever it happens, so like, whatever. It’s worth it.

Beca loses count of all the hours she spends just sitting on the living room floor, rolling tennis balls across the floor, challenging him to tug-of-war, play-wrestling, and teaching new tricks. More than once, she’s looked up to see Emily watching them from the doorway of her room or from the kitchen table, a huge smile on her face.

“See, you like him,” Emily usually says, joining their game.

“Just trying to tire him out so he doesn’t bother us later,” is Beca’s usual excuse.

And it becomes almost like a game between them, with Beca constantly complaining about Buddy and his occasionally destructive antics while Emily just nods and agrees sarcastically to humor her. Despite forcing the puppy into their apartment, Emily knows that Beca’s just as much enamored by Buddy as she is, and that her half-hearted reluctance is just a ruse to cover up just how much she adores him.

Emily’s not entirely wrong, but Beca knows that if anyone else pulled this kind of move without discussing it first, she would’ve marched right back to the shelter, puppy in tow. And while she doesn’t want to admit that only Emily could’ve convinced her to adopt a pet, it’d be pointless to argue otherwise. Because there’s no way _anyone_ can separate the puppy from the human puppy when they’re so fricken adorable together.

She’s completely whipped, and Beca can’t believe she’s let it get this far.

But then she looks over at Emily, holding Buddy in her arms and pretending to bite his nose while he playfully tries to bite back, both of them making little growling noises, and Beca understands perfectly why she let it get this far.

Since Beca has less than zero experience being responsible of another life, she leaves most of the caretaking duties to Emily, who’s had three pets and oodles of younger cousins to look after in the past. She’s happy to sit back and watch Emily go full mom-mode, doting over the puppy like he’s an actual human baby.

Instead, she falls easily into the role of the fun uncle, spending all her free time engaging the little monster with games and encouraging bad behavior that has Emily scolding the both of them. It creates an obvious difference between them for Buddy, who eventually learns that Emily is the one to go to for treats and hugs and kisses whereas Beca’s the one who plays rough and doesn’t yell when he sleeps on the bed.

Her greatest accomplishment is teaching Buddy to attack Emily with kisses — with a simple command of “get Emily!” — if she’s sitting on the couch or in her room, usually drawing a surprised scream or spluttering giggles.

“ _Beca!_ Stop teaching him useless tricks!”

“Hey, it’s not me, he just loves you _so_ much.”

Emily retaliates by teaching him the same command to attack Beca, and he happily hops back and forth between their rooms to heed to their orders. Unlike Emily, who tries to keep him under relative control and get him to respect her space, Beca usually just lets him do what he wants. She’s learned to just keep doing what she’s doing on her laptop with her free hand while he chews on the fingers of her other hand.

Which is cute when he’s a football-sized puppy. But when he starts growing exponentially and loses all his baby teeth for strong, adult chompers, Beca has to limit play wrestling so she can keep her hands intact and bandage-free.

“Aww you’re so _big_ now,” Emily coos one day when she comes home to find Buddy knocking Beca to the ground to get the ball in her hand.

“Too big,” Beca grunts, trying to push him off. “When is he gonna stop growing?”

“Beca, he’s only seven months old.”

Which like, doesn’t give her any indication when he’s supposed to reach maximum largeness, but then he’s slobbering his tongue all over her face and Beca has to scream for Emily to get him off.

And she wishes this rapidly growing, furry gremlin is enough of a handful to distract her from Emily, who seems to get more and more adorable every day; but their combined energy radiates blinding cuteness that has Beca staring and smiling like a complete doofus, so Buddy’s presence is the most counterproductive thing ever.

And _god_ , this is not what she’d signed up for when she asked Emily to live with her. Not the dog, not the parenting dynamic, not the eventual crush. She _refuses_ to be the cliche that falls for her roommate.

But then she looks at Emily, prying the overexcited dog off and laughing uncontrollably when he starts slobbering on her instead, and Beca forgets how to breathe like a normal human being.

It’s the phone call that finally pushes her over the edge into the bottomless pit.

She leaves the label late one night, exhausted from the day and craving a greasy slice of pepperoni pizza. Hoping that Emily hasn’t prepared dinner, Beca calls her up on her cell as she walks into the pizzeria closest to their apartment.

When Emily picks up, she sounds breathless. “Hey! Um, okay. Buddy took my favorite sandal and won’t give it back.” She pauses to yell his name and evidently chase after him, her feet thumping on the other line. “God, he’s so fast. What’s up? Did you need something?”

“Oh, no. Just wanted to let you know that I’m picking up pizza for dinner so you don’t have to cook tonight.”

“Okay! Thank you, sounds great!”

“Good luck getting your sandal back,” Beca snickers.

“He- _no_ ! Get back here, ya little rascal,” Emily warns, and Beca hears playful barking and nails scrabbling across the floor. “Sorry, he’s being _such_ an ass right now.”

“Whoa, Em. Language.”

“Ugh, I know, sorry. I…listen, I gotta go. Thanks for pizza though! Love you! Bye!”

And she hangs up.

Beca stops dead in her tracks, stops smiling, stops breathing, and just stares at her blank phone screen.

She knows she didn’t mishear Emily; those two words are too distinct to mishear. But she’s definitely misinterpreting it. There’s no way she meant it like _that_ . She was in a rush, chasing the dog, distracted, not thinking, just trying to get Beca off the phone. It doesn’t matter how much she _wants_ Emily to have meant it in that way. It’s just a casual parting between friends. Between roommates.

It’s not a big deal.

She didn’t mean it that way.

But Beca still over-thinks it to the point that she orders the wrong pizza topping and leaves a little too much change in the tip jar.  

She wants to ask Emily about it. Maybe in a teasing tone like, “aww you said you love me, we’re officially parents now.” Or just straight-up ask her if she meant to say it or not.

_It’s not a big deal._

_But it kind of is._

_No, it’s really not. Don’t do this to yourself._

When she returns to the apartment, Emily’s pouting on the couch, Buddy shut away in the bathroom in an improvised form of time-out. He’d chewed through the sandal and Emily doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to do anything but eat angrily, so Beca doesn’t bring up the phone conversation.

Which was like, a huge mistake. Because now she’s tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep, watching the minutes tick by on her alarm clock. Buddy jerks awake every time she shifts, huffing out sleepy complaints and pawing at Beca to try and get her to stay still.

“You did this,” she whispers furiously, and he whines a little at her tone. She doesn’t even know if she means the distracted “love you” that Emily gave her or the overall crush she’d developed on the younger girl. The latter, probably. But the former for her current situation.

Beca finally falls asleep sometime around 3am. And so the next morning, she wakes up thirty minutes after her alarm, frazzled and panicking.

She stumbles out of her room, half-awake, trying to stay quiet for Emily’s sake as she throws together a messy lunch and carefully tips Buddy’s breakfast into his bowl. She opts to skip showering and takes Buddy out for a quick walk instead, impatiently tugging him along when he takes too long sniffing as one spot.

As soon as she’s back in her room, she jumps into some clothes and rushes back into the kitchen to start the coffee machine. At first she can’t find the goddamn coffee and she scrambles through all the cupboards before she accidentally slams one closed. Wincing at the thunderous noise, she finally locates the coffee grounds and sets up the machine.

Then her foot catches on Buddy and she stumbles into the counter, causing her to knock over metallic tray that crashes noisily against the kitchen tiles. And she knows by now that Emily _has_ to be awake or close to it, so she gives up on trying to stay quiet and lets out a sharp curse. Buddy shrinks away from the tray and the sudden noise but still meekly follows Beca to the bathroom.

Her hair’s a mess but she’s past caring; she’ll just throw it together in a ponytail when she’s at the studio. There are awful bags under her eyes that take a significant amount of time to cover, and by the time she finishes, it’s already ten minutes past the time she usually leaves.

“Crap, crap, crap,” she mutters, rushing out of the bathroom and almost tripping over Buddy again. “God, _move_ , you lil’ turd.”

“Hey,” Emily rasps, emerging from her room at the commotion. “Don’t call him that.” She looks grumpy about being woken before her alarm, but the image is shattered when she scoops Buddy up out of Beca’s path and nuzzles into his fur. “He’s got feelings.”

“So do I, and most of it right now is panic.” She throws on a jacket, grabs her headphones, snatches up her coffee, and tugs her fingers through her hair again.

Emily adjusts her grip on Buddy, who’s now big enough to cover her entire torso, and rubs at her heavy eyes. “You’re running late,” she observes while looking at the clock, as if Beca’s frantic movements aren’t enough of a giveaway.

“To a super important meeting, yeah,” Beca says, slipping on her watch. “Sorry for waking you. With the noise, I mean.”

“Mmm…’s okay,” she mumbles, and even in her rush, Beca can’t ignore how precious Emily looks with her tousled bed head and wrinkled sleepwear. “I’ll take him out before I leave.”

“Don’t worry about it, I already walked him.”

She frowns at Beca. “You did? Oh. You didn’t have to. Now you’re late.”

“I was late either way, now I have a solid excuse,” Beca shrugs, sifting through her bag to check if she has everything but barely registering what’s actually inside. “All right, I’ll see you guys later.”

“Whoa, wait. Forgetting something?”

Emily unhooks and tosses Beca her keys as she rushes past. “Oh, holy shit. Thanks,” she says, catching them clumsily with one hand.

Without a second thought, she stops in front of them to plant a quick peck on the top of Buddy’s head. In the same movement, she leans over him to do the same on Emily’s cheek.

“Later!” Beca calls over her shoulder as she rushes out the door.

Realization doesn’t hit her until she finds a seat on the train and puts on her headphones.

 _Oh my god. Ohhhhh my god. What did I just…did I really do that? Did I hallucinate that? Please tell me I hallucinated that. Oh my fucking_ god _what the hell?_

Her face feels hot and she knows she’s blushing, but _holy shit_ she just accidentally kissed Emily on the cheek.

 _It’s no big deal, right? I mean, Emily’s done that to me before, so it’s fine. It’s cool. Totally normal. Definitely a normal roommate thing to do_ . _Totally. Just two friends. Doing normal friend stuff. Right?_

But Emily had only kissed her cheek as a thank you for letting her keep the puppy.

Whereas Beca had done it unconsciously and automatically for no special reason as if they’ve been married for several decades.

There she was, overthinking a simple and distracted and most _certainly_ platonic “love you” from Emily, and now she pulls _this_ kind of mindless move?

“Oh, my god,” she whispers to herself. “What the hell.”

Needless to say, she doesn’t pick up on a single word throughout the entire meeting. Theo has to nudge her a few times to pull her back to reality, and by the end of the hour, Beca feels like she has several bruises on her arm from how hard he’d elbowed her.

“I’m filing a harassment charge against you,” she tells him as the meeting ends and they shuffle out of the conference room.

“Great, be sure to file for your resignation with that,” he jokes, catching the door from behind Beca so it doesn’t slam closed on her oblivious face. “What’s going on with you today? You were late, you smell like sweat and dog fur, and you were a million miles away at the meeting.”

Beca immediately thinks back to her morning and grimaces. “I was…uh. I couldn’t sleep last night. Missed my alarm. Just tired.”

“You sure that’s it?”

She squints at Theo. “What’d you mean?”

“Looks like you got something more than insomnia stirring in there,” Theo says, wiggling a finger at Beca’s head. “Everything all right with Emily?”

“What?” Beca says quickly. Too quickly. “Wh-…why would you ask that? Why wouldn’t things be all right?”

“Well, your reaction, for one thing.” Theo holds open another door for Beca so she doesn’t walk into it. “And you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

She lets out a wild and panicky laugh that sounds entirely fake to her own ears. “What? A thing? What thing? For Emily? Who…why…when…no. No, that’s not. Like, no.”    

Theo blinks slowly and raises his eyebrows. “Wow, okay. That bad?”

And Beca splutters like an idiot because _no_ , Theo doesn’t know _shit_ , but she’s too tired to argue a point that she’s not even sure she can defend. So she just groans and throws herself down in her chair, not even bothering to boot up her computer.

“You know, everyone who’s seen you two here together? They can see your heart eyes from the moon.”

She cringes at the words ‘heart eyes,’ sounding foreign and gross in Theo’s accented monotone. “That’s an exaggeration,” she says unconvincingly.

“You should tell her how you feel,” Theo continues, all but ignoring Beca. “Get it off your chest. Stop losing sleep over it. Who knows, maybe she feels the same way.”

“ _What?_ Dude, no. That’s…no. Things are fine the way they are now.”

“Is that why you look like you’ve been drinking heavily since last week?”  

“Ugh, get off my back, will you?” she whines half-heartedly. “I’m clearly a goddamn disaster; you don’t need to point out the details.”

Theo looks amused, and Beca just wants to smack the look off his face. “Why don’t you want to just…tell her?”

“Well one, because it’s pathetic,” she says, holding up a finger. “Two, we’re like, long-time friends and I don’t want to make things weird. Three, we’re also _roommates_ , so if I _do_ make things weird, we still have three months to go on our lease. And four…” She pops up her pinky for the last point, “I have a crushing fear of rejection. Also don’t want to make Emily reject me, she’s too pure for that shit.”

“Why are you so sure she’s going to reject you?” he asks, leaning over to turn on Beca’s computer. “You don’t think there’s a chance that maybe it’s mutual?”

If she’s being honest, she’s never considered it. Because Emily loves everyone and isn’t afraid to show it, and it’s clear that she’d respected and admired Beca back when they were still Bellas together. Thinking about it now, Beca’s almost certain that she wouldn’t be able to pick up on signs of mutual feelings if Emily were writing them out in neon markers.

Theo pats her on the shoulder when she doesn’t answer. “Just give it a shot, yeah? She’s not the type of girl shut you out if things go sideways, right?”  

She hates that this is an actual conversation that she’s having with Theo. Most of all, she hates that he’s probably right. “I dunno,” she says, giving up on her nonchalant facade and sinking lower in her chair. “I just don’t want her to like…run away, you know?  

“You think she would?”

“ _I_ would.”

“That’s not my question.”

“I don’t…I’m just…” She tugs at her ponytail and lets out a frustrated groan. “No offense, man. You’re like. Not the ideal person to talk to about all these…” she clenches her fingers in front of her chest, “…feelings, and shit.”

Theo’s expression suddenly clears, a lightbulb visibly going off in his head. He grabs Beca’s useless notebook filled with failed lyric attempts and tosses it in front of her.

“Then write them out.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”   

“Like in a…song?”

He gives her a look. “Yeah, like in a song. And sing it to her. See how she responds.”

“That sounds sappy as hell,” Beca sniffs.

“Yeah, because it _is_ . That’s the _point_ , Beca.”  

She glances down at the notebook as Theo settles down behind his own desk, shaking his head. _This is so stupid_ , she thinks.

But then she starts to write.

She ends up staying super late to finish writing the lyrics and figuring out the notes, and by the time she leaves the studio, it’s well past dinnertime and her stomach’s growling up a storm.

Despite the late hour, she hasn’t received a single text or call from Emily, and Beca tries not to read into it too much. She could just be tired from work. She could be caught up with Buddy’s shenanigans again. She could literally just be napping.

There’s no reason to think that she’s ignoring Beca because she inexplicably kissed her on the cheek before leaving.

Right?

The apartment’s dark when Beca finally gets back, but the thin sliver of light leaking from the crack in Emily’s door means that she’s home. Buddy perks up from his bed next to the couch, tail wagging excitedly as he greets Beca with soft whining and gentle licks.

She peeks into Emily’s room and catches a glimpse of her sitting up on her bed with her laptop. There’re soundproof headphones over her ears, and it doesn’t seem like she heard Beca come home.

Thank god.

“Get in there, loser,” she whispers to Buddy, pushing him past Emily’s room to her own. “You got me into this mess, you’re gonna help me get the hell over her.” She grabs the acoustic guitar from its stand by the window and bumps his butt with it when he hesitates in her doorway.

“Okay.” She plants herself in the middle of her bed and plucks experimentally at the guitar, tuning it by ear. Buddy tilts her head at every note, looking puzzled at every new sound the instrument makes. “You’re gonna do me a favor, kay?”

His mouth drops into a grin as he pants in agreement.

Beca rips off a piece of the notebook and scribbles down a quick note. _Take off your headphones if you wanna hear an original Beca Mitchell hit single_. She tucks the note into Buddy’s collar and says quietly, “Get Emily.”

He jumps off the bed and dashes away.

There’s absolutely no reason to use Buddy as a messenger; she could literally text Emily the same message or just walk over with the goddamn guitar and serenade her like some cheesy 80s rom-com.

But somewhere deep down, she hopes Buddy’s involvement will soften Emily up or lessen the blow of rejection. She’s also fairly certain that she _can’t_ do this in front of Emily because this is so friggen cheesy that she’d die of embarrassment before she even played a single note.

There’s the sound of a door being tackled open, and Emily lets out a short scream that echoes through the empty living room. Beca can hear the beginnings of her name about to be yelled out in frustration before Emily stops herself, probably at the sight of the note in Buddy’s collar.

As soon as she hears the distinct crinkle of paper being unfolded, Beca starts playing on the guitar with clumsy, beginner fingers. She’d practiced for hours at the studio, and now her raw fingerpads sting every time she presses down on the strings.

Ignoring the pain, she clears her throat and starts to sing.  
  
_Tell her a story_  
_Tell her the honest truth_  
_You treat her better_  
_Make sure to see it through_  
_Don't be just everything she wants_  
_Be everything she needs_  
_When she says she loves you_ _  
Tell her you love her too_

There’s a solid chunk, maybe worth half a verse, where Beca literally couldn’t think of good lyrics for a transition. She fills them with soft “ohh”s and hopes for the best, cringing when her voice goes slightly off-key from nerves.

 _Give her a reason_  
_Reason to love all you do_  
_She'll tell you secrets_  
_You'll tell her secrets too_  
_She'll tell you all her hopes and dreams_  
_You'll tell them too_  
_When she says she loves you_ _  
Tell her you love her too_

_But don't you run away run away when you get tired_   
_'Cause this will slip away slip away and start a fire_   
_That can never be put out_   
_Oh hurry time is running out_   
_But don't you run away run away before you say  
You love her_

The song feels _so_ much longer now that she has an audience, and every note she gets wrong on the guitar sounds like the end of the world. Beca gets through another verse and chorus without choking on her own heart, though she does come extremely close to stopping when she mixes up two lines of lyrics.

When she finally strums out the last note, Beca has to restrain herself from tossing the guitar out the window and slamming her door shut out of sheer embarrassment. She falls back heavily into her pillows, clutching the cursed instrument in her arms.

 _It’s fine. If she asks, I could just say I wrote it…for fun. Not for her. It’ll totally work out, we could like, bond over songwriting or whatever. No one said this was a confession, so it’s_ fine _, okay?_

She hears a whisper from Emily’s room and suddenly Buddy’s nails are scrabbling across the floor towards her. He leaps onto her bed and Beca has to sit up and fight him off before he topples on top of her and crushes the guitar.

There’s a note tucked into his collar, and her mouth goes dry. _Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god._ With aching fingers, she slowly slips it out and opens it to read the four words printed neatly in Emily’s perfect handwriting.

_You’re a sap, Beca._

“You really are.”

She looks up sharply at the sound of Emily’s voice to find her leaning against the doorframe. There’s the barest hint of a smile, but the look she gives Beca is so, so soft that her heart tightens in her chest.

“Because I finally wrote a song?”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “Because you wrote a _love_ song.”

 _For you_ , Beca wants to add, but the words sound so incredibly disgustingly cheesy in her head — even cheesier than the song — that she forces them back down. “It…uh. …‘s not…a love song” she says instead, and it sounds so fake and unconvincing that she can’t even keep a straight face.

“Is it for someone in particular?” Emily asks. There’s a knowing smile growing on her face, and Beca can’t look her in the eyes.

“Uh. Mmmmaybe.”

“Do I know her?”

Beca swallows. “…Kinda.”  

“Oh yeah? Tell me about her.”

“Uh. Um.”

Her smile grows even wider, and Beca _knows_ that Emily knows, that there are no take backs or jokes that can convince her otherwise. And suddenly she’s terrified that she’d fucked up, just ruined everything they’d built together, chased away the best roommate she could ever ask for.

The only thing keeping her from having a full-blown meltdown is the reassuring smile on Emily’s face, but even that could mean anything. She could let Beca down easy and be completely civil about it, and Beca would still feel like death is a better option.

Emily probably senses Beca’s anxiety and dials back on the teasing smile. She shrugs off the doorframe and reaches out to pull Beca to her feet. “Is she…” she starts, pausing to pry the guitar out of Beca’s death grip and place it on the bed next to Buddy. “The kind of girl who walks the dog even when she’s running late to a super important meeting so her roomate has a few extra minutes to get ready?”

“Wh…huh?”

“Because that’s the kind of girl I would go for,” Emily shrugs.

Beca narrows her eyes and holds back a smile, picking up on the game. “No, she’s more like…the kind of girl who sneaks puppies into the apartment despite her roommate’s rules.”

“Okay, so like. The kind of girl who lets said puppy sleep on her bed despite _her_ roommate’s rules.”

They trade a look before glancing down at Buddy, who wags his tail excitedly at the attention. Beca frowns and crosses her arms. “Actually, she’s the kind of girl who sends mixed messages to her roommate by dropping a casual ‘love you’ at the end of a phone call.”

“Oh? Like the kind of girl who sends even _worse_ mixed messages by kissing her roommate before running off to work?” Emily counters.

Heat floods Beca’s cheeks. “That was an accid —!”

Emily doesn’t let her finish; she tugs Beca against her and gently tilts her chin up to meet their lips in the middle. Eyes closing automatically, Beca sinks into the soft, warm touch, not daring to press forward or pull backwards in fear of shattering the moment. Everything about Emily’s lips are perfect, from the way they emanate love and happiness to the way they curl up a little into a smile when Beca lets out a shaky breath.

Buddy suddenly lets out a whine and paws at Beca’s back from his perch on the bed. She lets out a groan and pulls away from Emily, swatting away his paw and squishing his face in her hands.

“You’re ruining my _life_ , dude.”

“Is he, though?” Emily laughs, hugging Beca from behind. “I’d say he’s our little matchmaker.”

There’s nothing ‘little’ about the furry monstrosity now trying to lick at her nose, but Beca forgets her sharp retort when Emily wraps her arms around Beca’s waist and rests her chin on her shoulder. “Um.” She clears her throat. “This…uh. This means you like me too, right?”

There’s a beat of silence before Emily lets out a heavy sigh and sags a little against Beca. “Was that…was _this_ not enough of an indication?” she asks, gliding her lips along the nape of Beca’s neck.

A violent line of goosebumps shoot down her back, and Beca squirms away with a shiver. “I didn’t…shower today,” she mutters with embarrassment, as if that’s the thing she should be worrying about right now. “I’m like, super gross so don’t touch me.”   

Emily hums, shaking her head and smiling as she pulls Beca back in. “Never gross,” she mutters against her lips, and Beca’s knees go weak.

“Okay, but like. I’m gonna go shower real quick because I feel disgusting.”

“Fine. But you better hurry up before I learn this song and sing it back to you,” Emily says, picking up Beca’s notebook and guitar. “And we both know how much better I am at guitar.”

“You ass,” Beca laughs, shoving her out of the way and drawing a giggle.

“Whoa, Bec. Language.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX  
> fic song: Tell Her You Love Her (acoustic) - Echosmith
> 
> send me prompts that I'll probably put off for months: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	22. horror movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Beca gets a call in the middle of night from Emily. Emily saw a horror movie and can't sleep"

Beca leans back in her chair and stares up at the ceiling, silently begging for instantaneous death. The storm raging on outside answers her call by lighting up the midnight sky and splitting open the humid silence with an ear-splitting crack of thunder.

It’s well past 2am, she’s hungry, she’s exhausted, and her eyeballs feel like they’re just about ready to melt out of her head. She’d accomplished nothing since she got out of practice seven hours ago, and despite it being a weekend, she doesn’t want to let herself go to bed without having finished at least  _ one _ goddamn thing for the next Bellas set. 

She viciously jabs her trackpad to play another infuriatingly calm, monotone note on the digital piano keyboard. 

Nothing. No inspiration. Nada. Nothing for their next show, nothing for the Worlds, and nothing for Residual Heat. The last thing she’d thrown together was their Kennedy Center set (which had ended disastrously, dare she add), and that had been back in the summer.

For the first time in her life, Beca has hit a creative slump.

And it’s the absolute worst thing to happen to her. 

Slowly, she spins her chair away from her desk, head lolling lifelessly against its back, and blankly takes in her empty and dimly-lit room. Amy’s MIA for the night, the rest of the Bellas have been asleep for hours, and everything is a surreal kind of dark and quiet. Beca spins back to face the blinding screen of her laptop and wishes she could die for like, just a few days and then come back when the stress was gone. 

Another flash of lightning forks across her window, and she contemplates running outside into the pouring rain with a metal rod so she doesn’t have to deal with any of this shit anymore.

She doesn’t even hear her phone ringing through the rumbling thunder, but when Beca glances down, she sees that someone’s calling her at 2-in-the-fricken-am.

It’s Emily. 

She squints at her screen, confused and a little apprehensive, before swiping to answer the call. “Uh. Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end. “Beca?” Emily whispers, and Beca can’t help but smile. 

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“Oh, no, no. I just…um. You’re awake, right?”

Beca pauses, unsure of how to answer. The classic “well, I am  _ now _ ” gets stuck in her throat because this is Emily, still new and fresh and innocent, who doesn’t need to be served the Beca Mitchell Sass for a well-meaning question. Also, she really was awake so the sarcasm would just be a useless lie. 

So she settles for a “Yeah, what’s up?” and hopes to  _ god _ Emily doesn’t need a DD because it’s a literal hurricane outside and Beca is a notorious shit driver in the rain.

The freshman’s response is so quiet that it’s almost lost through the static of the phone. “This…uh. I know this is kind of dumb…” she says haltingly. Beca sits up in her chair, frowning at the quiver in her voice.   

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m…” Emily trails off, sounding embarrassed. “I’m downstairs. In your living room.” 

“Oh. What the.” 

“I know, I know. It’s just…um.” She inhales deeply. “Can you come down here? I’m so sorry, it’s uh. Like. It’s dumb, but…”

Beca waits for her to finish, pulling one eyebrow into an arch even though there’s no one around to see her expression. “Dumb-butt?” she asks, amused, when Emily doesn’t continue her thought. There’s a thin, nervous laugh on the other end. “I’ll be down in a sec, okay?”

She’s already heading down the stairs when Emily returns a weak “okay” and hangs up. The house is dark as hell and Beca’s unadjusted eyes fight to pick out hallways and stairs through the pitch blackness; three years of living in the same house should realistically give her some form of muscle memory, but it’s late and she’s exhausted and she’ll run into a few walls if she wants to. 

But then she smashes her pinky toe against a doorframe so she turns on the flashlight on her phone. 

The rain isn’t as deafening on the lower floors as it is in the attic, and she can pick out a few snores from the other Bellas as she tiptoes towards the main stairs. There’s monotonous chanting coming from Lilly’s room, and Beca gives the door a wide berth. 

When she finally enters the living room, Emily is nowhere to be found. The couch cushions are slightly rumpled where clearly someone had been lying down, but there’s no sign of life anywhere else. Bracing herself in case this is a prank, she whispers Emily’s name. 

If she hadn’t been expecting it, Beca would’ve passed out at the sight of Emily’s head popping up from behind the other side of the sectional. She still flinches a little at the sudden movement and curses under her breath. “What the hell, dude.” 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” Emily whispers back, shielding her eyes from the brightness of Beca’s phone light. 

“What’re you doing back there?” 

“I’m…uh.” She mumbles something that’s lost to Beca’s ears. 

“What?” Still unsure whether this is some stupid prank or not, Beca approaches warily, peering around the back of the couch from a distance before confirming that Emily is indeed alone and huddled on the floor with a blanket and pillow. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asks, crouching down next to her. 

Emily swallows nervously and fidgets with the blanket. She looks scared and small and so,  _ so _ embarrassed. “You’re gonna think I’m the stupidest person ever.” 

“There are eight adults in this house who can prove you wrong in a second,” Beca says reassuringly, her heart swelling when Emily laughs a little. 

“I know you were upstairs working, but we were watching a movie down here earlier tonight,” Emily starts. “It was…um. You know. A scary movie. Because it’s rainy and lightning-y outside so it ‘fit the mood’ or whatever. And it was fine! Great, really. We played Uno afterwards and Fat Amy almost killed Ashley over a Draw 4 card.” 

“So that’s what all that screaming was about.” 

“Yeah, sorry. But then everyone went to bed and I was alone down here and I thought I heard someone at the door but I was too scared to look and then I thought I saw someone at the window but I was too scared to go over and close the curtains be-because what if something jumped out, you know?” Emily’s talking speed accelerates to the point that all of her words start to mash together. “And I didn’t want to stay here so I was thinking of going up to your room because I figured you’d still be awake but I-I-I couldn’t move and I was afraid of making any noise or…or…” 

She trails off and tightens the blanket around her shoulders. Beca realizes that Emily’s shaking a little despite the oppressive humidity in the house. Not really the comforting type, she hesitates before placing a gentle hand on Emily’s shoulder. 

“God, I’m such a wimp. I’m so sorry for making you come down here, Beca.” 

“Hey, don’t be. I get it.” 

“I swear I’m not usually this bad. It was just…a lot. Blood and gore and demon possessions and stuff. And with the storm and the thunder and the rain, there’s so much happening and  —” 

“Whoa, okay. Relax,” Beca says when Emily starts speed talking again. “It’s cool. Scary movies freak me out too. No judgement.” She receives a relieved smile, and the dangerous trek through the dark house is suddenly all worth it. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” 

“Yeah.” Emily stands up slowly, clutching the blanket and pillow tight to her chest. “Sounds good.” 

Beca waits patiently as Emily hesitates at every doorway and peers around every dark corner. “Don’t worry,” she whispers when Emily pauses in front of the second-floor bathroom. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.” 

Emily smiles a little but glances over Beca’s tiny body, a flicker of doubt crossing her expression. 

“Hey,” Beca warns. “I saw that.” 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, not sounding sorry at all. “But you’re wearing pajama shorts with little cats on them.” 

“What does that have to do with my monster-fighting abilities?” she counters. 

Emily just holds back another smile and rolls her eyes a little. 

Beca’s room feels like a thousand degrees compared to the rest of the house, and she turns on the AC unit as soon as they enter. “You’re welcome to sleep on Amy’s bed if you’re willing to fight that pile of laundry and lay in several layers of various crumbs. If not, take mine.”

“You’re not sleeping?”

She glances at her laptop and sighs. “Maybe later.”

“Later? Beca, it’s 2am.”

“There’s always a ‘later’ for sleep,” Beca shrugs. Emily’s looking at her with an offended expression. “I just have a lot to do. Arrangements and stuff.” 

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“It…shouldn’t.”

“But it can?” 

“I mean, I guess. But it  _ really _ shouldn’t.”

“But you should sleep, right?” Emily insists, and Beca narrows her eyes playfully.

“I’m getting strong hints that you want me to sleep,” she teases. Then Emily’s eyes are widening and her cheeks are turning pink and Beca doesn’t know what exactly she’d said to trigger that reaction. 

“I-I mean, yeah, of course. You need, like, you know. Sleep. But um.” Emily glances nervously from Beca to her bed. “Okay, please don’t take this the wrong way,” she says, now blushing for real, “but can you…sleep next to me?”

After years of having her personal space invaded by all the Bellas without permission, Beca doesn’t expect Emily’s hesitant shyness for such a harmless question. The freshman’s embarrassment only makes  _ her _ embarrassed in turn.

“Oh, uh…” 

Honestly, it sounds like a horrible idea for them to share a twin bed, considering Emily’s long limbs and Beca’s restlessness, paired together with how disgustingly hot the attic can get even with the AC running full blast. It’s impossible to ignore how shaken and afraid Emily looks and Beca doesn’t want to reject this poor puppy of a girl, but god, at what cost? 

Emily looks like she wants to die when Beca hesitates. “S-sorry, never mind. Forget I said that,” she says, laughing nervously. “Don’t know what I was thinking, really. I’ll just take Amy’s bed, don’t worry about it.” 

“Wait, okay. Don’t do that to yourself. That’s a nightmare on its own.” Beca gives one last, hard glare at her laptop before shutting it firmly. “You’re lucky I like you, Legacy,” she mumbles, shoving Emily lightly towards the bed on her way to shut off the lights. 

It’s a tight fit. 

_ God _ it’s a tight fit. 

There’s no way the two of them can lie down comfortably without touching, and Beca already feels herself starting to sweat from the heat radiating off of Emily’s skin. She’d shared this bed with Chole before, but considering how she’d clung to Beca like a koala to a tree, Beca hadn’t noticed just how unshareable this bed is. 

She figures she should thank her stupid self for staying up so late and tiring out her body; there’s probably no way she could fall asleep comfortably otherwise. “No more scary movies for you,” Beca chides, though her voice sounds too heavy with sleep for it to sound serious. “That or you buy me a bigger bed.” 

“Sorry,” Emily responds in a small voice. “I know you don’t like sharing your space and I know you wanted to keep working on arrangements and I totally stepped all over that and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to be sorry. I was…” She hesitates before admitting the truth. “…stuck anyway. Haven’t done a single productive thing today. Sleep’s probably for the best.”

“But still, I’m s  —”

Beca reaches out blindly to cover Emily’s face with her hand. “Shush. Stop apologizing. Sleep.” 

Emily obediently clamps her mouth shut, and after a few minutes of silence, Beca thinks she’s fallen asleep. But then she hears a quiet “thanks,” from the darkness. 

“For what?”

“For putting up with me. For coming downstairs to get me,” she says, sounding half-asleep. 

Beca can’t help but to laugh. “You don’t have to thank me for that, dude. I’m just surprised you lasted that long before you called me,” she shrugs, accidentally digging her shoulder into Emily’s. “The first floor’s pretty spooky when it’s empty. And our basement’s totally haunted.” 

Emily springs up and stares at Beca through the dark. “The  _ what _ ’s haunted?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> send a prompt, I'll get back to you within 300-400 business days: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	23. volleyball incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a tumblr number prompt list:  
> 43\. “You’re lucky you’re cute”
> 
> these are gonna be SHORT because I’m LAZY

It honestly didn't even hurt.

One second, Emily's playing a somewhat lackluster game of volleyball with the Bellas and Trebles in the latters' backyard, and the next second, a blunt object is smashing into her forehead at full speed, and out of sheer shock from the unexpected impact, her legs give out from under her.

“Oh my _god_ , Emily?”

“Holy shit!”

“You okay?”

She opens her eyes to see a dozen worried faces peering down at her. Emily doesn't even know how she ended up on the ground so fast. “Ow. No, I'm okay. Really, it didn't hurt at all.”

“But you went down like a sack of bricks,” Fat Amy says.

“You also just said ‘ow,’” Jesse adds, helping her to her feet.

“Oh, no, that was just a neutral ‘ow.’ Like a surprised ‘ow.’ You know, like a ‘wow I can't believe that just happened’ kind of...” Seeing how she's just making everyone even more concerned, she trails off. “Really, I'm okay. See? No pain.” As if to prove her point, she lightly but firmly taps her forehead.

“I'm so sorry, dude.” An unexpected apology comes from Beca. "We thought we'd spice up the game with our signature move," she explains, gesturing vaguely towards Stacie.  

"Signature move?"

"I pick up Mitchell and she spikes the ball," Stacie elaborates with a straight face, and Emily wishes she'd been paying attention so she could've witnessed the ridiculous move. Oh, and so she wouldn't have gotten hit in the head. "Are you sure you're okay? Seriously, we didn't mean to hit anyone."

Everyone, especially Beca, looks genuinely concerned and incredibly apologetic and Emily doesn't really know how else to tell them that she's perfectly fine. Looking around at the still-worried expressions, she realizes that everyone probably thinks she's playing off an actual injury because she's the youngest and doesn't want to look weak in front of the upperclassmen.

Which is so, so sweet of them but she's actually not in pain at all.

_Okay, how do I get them to stop worrying over me? Should I crack a joke about having a hard head and laugh it off? Do I keep insisting that I'm okay? Should I just give in and let them get me an ice pack or something?_

"I'm really, _really_ sorry, Emily," Beca says, and suddenly Emily can't stand how serious everyone's acting.

"Yeah, well," she mutters, breathing out a nervous laugh, "You're lucky you're cute."

She doesn't know why, out of all of the jokes and comments she could've made to ease the tension, she'd decided to go with that line, but Emily regrets it the moment everyone freezes over like she'd committed some cardinal sin. _It...shouldn't be a big deal right? The Bellas poke fun at each other like this all the time, right? I didn't say anything that offensive...right??_

But, to be fair, Emily hadn't yet gotten to that point with the girls where she could comfortably make those kinds of comments, much less to someone like Beca.

After a few, mortifyingly eternal seconds of pure embarrassment, Stacie breaks the silence.

"Aww hear that, shortstack? Legacy thinks you're _cuuuute_."

"N-no, I didn't say it like _that!_ "

"You _blushing_ , Beca?"

"Wh- _no_. No,  _no_ , let's just get back to the game. No, you keep that mouth shut, Fat Amy, or I'm spiking this ball into it next."

With the perpetrators bickering like always, everyone melts out of their concern and wanders back into their positions to resume the game, leaving Emily feeling like a total buffoon. Still in shock at the words that she’d dared to utter and somewhat unsure whether she should even rejoin the game to avoid further humiliation, Emily tentatively takes her place. 

Beca’s standing across from her on the other side of the net, and Emily flounders for a moment, wondering if it’d make things worse if she apologized.  _What would I even say? Sorry for making an absolute fool of myself? Sorry for...hitting on you? Was I even hitting on her?_

_Oh my stars, did I hit on Beca Mitchell?_

And she knows Beca is like, totally too cool to even care about someone like Emily dropping a lame one-liner like that, but then again...maybe Stacie was right and maybe Beca’s cheeks are looking pinker than usual...

“All right, squad,” Jesse calls to their team. “We’re gonna avenge Emily here and aim our spikes at Beca and Stacie. Sound good?”

“Fuck you, Swanson!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	24. you can count on me (if you want to) alternative scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a tumblr number prompt list:  
> 20\. “I think you’re just afraid to be happy”
> 
> This snippet is actually an alternative version of the post-party convo that happened in chapter 5 of the post-pp2 emily-centric fic, I just kinda tossed this line and altered it to fit (this snippet ends VERY abruptly because I didn’t want to copy paste the full scene sorry)

The conversation winds down into a comfortable silence, both of them gazing listlessly up at the sky, and Emily starts to regain enough sense to wonder how long they’ve been lying there by the pool. Her back feels stiff and achy against the concrete and the chilly November air had sunk deep into her bones. The only thing keeping her warm was the fading alcohol in her blood and Beca’s arm against her own. 

“Did you have a good time tonight?”

The question is so soft Emily thinks she imagines it at first. And even when she accepts that they were real words, she struggles to answer the question. 

Yes, she did have a good time tonight. But it was the only night she’d actually had a good time; there’d been plenty of Trebles parties during the semester, but this party is the first time she’d actually joined in and gotten decently wasted. And with heavy dread, she realizes it’s only because she feels more comfortable with the old Bellas and Trebles around. Will she ever be able to let go of these people? To feel at home with her new Bellas and fellow Barden a capella members?

“It was fun,” she states simply. She expects Beca to press for details, maybe poke fun at some drunk shenanigans she’d done, but she only hums in agreement. 

“That’s good,” she says after a long pause. Her words are slurred, more from exhaustion than drunkeness. “You need some fun in your life.” 

There’s absolutely no critical undertone in that simple observation, but Emily frowns. “What’d you mean? I have  _fun_.” And it’s with great difficulty that she refrains from adding a small “sometimes” at the end. 

Beca hums again, this time more thoughtful. “I guess...yeah, you do, but not really.” She realizes how confusing that sounds and races to clarify the thought. “Like not...fully? Okay, like,” Beca sits up suddenly and snaps her fingers as if to wake up the more coherent side of her brain. “You do this  _thing_  where you try to avoid having fun. Like you’re there, you’re at the party, but you like...hold yourself back from actually joining the party. Well, like, until alcohol loosens you up.”

“Are you saying I deliberately make myself miserable?” Emily asks, sitting up much more slowly. She hears the accusatory tone in her own question and hopes Beca doesn’t take it that way; judging by her unbothered expression, she’d missed it. 

“I dunno. Sometimes it seems like...like, uh. Hmm. I mean this in the best way.” Beca pauses as if choosing her words carefully. “I think you’re just...afraid to be happy sometimes.”

Emily reels back a little, surprised at the odd combination of words. Afraid? To be happy? Fear of positivity? That sounds like the exact opposite of what she’s feeling. With all the stress she’d been dealing with, she would chop off a limb for an ounce of happiness, of relief, of  _fun_. 

“I’m not saying you don’t  _want_ to be happy,” Beca continues as if reading her mind. “But I was the same way last year. And the year before. And...well, every year, I guess. There’s always so much going on with school and the Bellas and competitions and family and friends that I kind of started to depend on that feeling of being overwhelmed to motivate and push me through the day.” 

Emily rests her chin on her knees and nods slowly in agreement. 

“And when parties like this rolled around, I’d be too wound-up with stress or too afraid to drink because blackouts or hangovers would waste too much time the next morning.” Beca gestures to the crushed solo cup in Emily’s hand and smiles a little when she tosses it aside. “I didn’t want to let myself have a good time anywhere. And I think I told myself it was because there was too much to do or some shit like that, but really...subconsciously, at least, I think it was the fear of realizing how much fun I’m missing out on. Like, if I let myself genuinely be happy at one of these parties, I’d be like, ‘huh, why am I spending so much time stressing out about all this crap when this life is so much better?’ and give up on everything to make myself happy.” 

It’s a thought that had never crossed Emily’s mind before, but the most she listens to Beca talk, the more she realizes that it’s exactly what she’d been feeling as captain. 

“Yeah. That was a lot, but like. You know.” 

“Yeah,” she whispers, suddenly very self-conscious. “I know.” 

Beca looks up at Emily’s small voice. “I don’t mean any of it like, in a negative way.” 

“O-oh, yeah. I know that.” 

“It’s...yeah. Probably a leader thing.” 

“Probably, yeah.”

They fall back into silence. Now that they’re sitting up and not looking up at the void of the night sky, Emily doesn’t know where to fix her thousand-yard-stare. She settles for fixating on her sneakers and picking at the frayed laces.

“You deserve it, you know.” Beca’s voice is pitched to a mumble again, and Emily strains her ears to catch the words. “To be happy, I mean.”

She breathes out a sigh. “I...I’m trying,” Emily says, and it comes out so pitiful, so desperate even to her own ears, she feels the all-too familiar burning feeling behind her eyes. Against all instinct, she looks up to meet Beca’s worried expression.

“...Em—“

“Hey weirdos.” A shadow suddenly falls over them. “You guys gonna stay out here all night?” Stacie asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean if you haven't read it already and want the continuation of this chapter, read the rest here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297154/chapters/39304111
> 
> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	25. the shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a tumblr number prompt list:  
> 36\. "Is that my shirt?"

There is no conceivable way 10 girls can live under the same roof and not lose track of whose clothes belong to who, especially considering the amount of Barden T-shirts and Bellas sweatpants they’d accumulated over the past four years. When they first moved into the Bella house their sophomore year, they’d tried scribbling their initials on clothing tags and pointing out different types of rips that could be used as distinguishing markers for similar shorts or sweaters, but by the end of their first semester as housemates, they gave up all hope. 

Now, any generic articles of clothing like blank T-shirts or Barden merch belonged to everyone and were free for the taking from the laundry pile. 

But not  _all_  the clothing in their occasional joint laundry load was for everyone to take.

Groaning with frustration, Beca digs furiously through the enormous pile in the laundry closet, struggling to find a bajillion-year-old T-shirt from her summer camp that she still wore to Bellas rehearsals. It wasn’t the coolest shirt, its logo faded like it’d been sanded down and the sleeves and collar ripping a bit from age, but the material was soft from countless wash cycles and she always felt comfortable and nostalgic when wearing it.

Except now it’s  _gone_  because it’d ended up in the shared pile and Beca just wants it  _back_ , damnit. 

She reaches the bottom of the pile and starts sorting through each article of clothing again, eyes raking over every shirt that has the same, dark blue color. It’d be too desperate to message the group or bring it up at practice, and she just knows a handful of them would never let her live it down if she threw a temper tantrum over an old and ratty T-shirt.

“Beca! We’re gonna be late to practice!”

Emily’s voice floats up the stairs and Beca scrunches up her nose at the thought of abandoning her search for timeliness. After spending so much time sifting through this mountain of crap, she doesn’t want to give up and take a Barden shirt in defeat.

But she was the one driving her and Emily to practice and she didn’t want to set a bad example by holding them up for a stupid shirt. 

With a resigned huff, she grabs a Nike tank top and pulls it on, kicking the closet door as she does. 

Emily’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs, texting someone — probably the Bellas — and leaning casually on the front door. As usual, she’s dressed like a professional athleisure model, with perfectly-fitted leggings, colorful running shoes, and a tied-up T-shirt exposing the Infamous Abs that every one of the older Bellas had expressed jealousy over. 

It’s definitely an eye-catching sight but Beca’s far too used to this from Stacie’s less-than-appropriate attire, so she barely spares a glance as she rushes over to the shoe closet for her sneakers...

...but does a  _hard_  double-take before she even opens the door.

“Wait. Is that my shirt?”

Emily frowns a little and looks down at what she’s wearing. “Oh. Um, maybe? I took it from the laundry pile upstairs, so I don’t actually know whose this is.”

It’s  _definitely_  Beca’s camp shirt that she just spent the better part of the past 20 minutes looking for. But it’s being worn in such an unfamiliar way, the sleeves rolled up to resemble a muscle tee and the hemline bunched and tied with a hair scrunchie. It’s a good look on Emily. 

It actually looks... _hot_.

Like,  _really_  hot.

“Sorry, um. Should I not have taken it? Chloe said anything in the pile is fair game, but if you don’t want me wearing it, I can change into something —”

“Uh. Uh, wait, no.” Beca stumbles frantically as Emily starts pulling at the shirt as if she’s about to change right there in the foyer. “Y-uh. You can. Uh. Keep it. I mean, like. Wear it, for now. And I’ll just get it back when you’re...done with it.” 

She cringes at her own words. 

“Are you sure?” Emily still looks uncertain. “I could grab something else if you want me to.”

“No, you look...” Beca forcibly chokes back the word that pops into mind. “...good. Fine. You look fine. N-not that you wouldn’t in anything else.” With a nervous laugh that does nothing to dispel the awkwardness, she grabs her sneakers and snatches her car keys from the hook. “Okay, good talk, let’s go.” 

She leaves it up to Emily to close the door behind them, rushing down the driveway to her car to hide her burning cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	26. a party kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a tumblr number prompt list:  
> 29\. “Do you want a kiss as bad as I do right now”
> 
> I changed a word to fulfill a classic trope sue me

Emily looooooooves parties. 

(The classy kind, not those raunchy sweaty frat parties in stuffy basements serving jungle juice and blasting bass-heavy music.)

There’s just something about picking a cute dress, taking hours to do makeup and hair, and strolling into a fancy ballroom full of equally well-dressed people that makes Emily giddy with childish anticipation. Though it doesn’t happen often, a tingle of electric energy shoots through her body whenever she’s presented with the opportunity to go to a formal or semi-formal party.

When Beca invites them all to a charity banquet hosted by the studio she’s interning at, Emily all but loses her mind with excitement. 

“It’s not like, super glamorous but my boss wants as many people as we can get so it looks good in pictures,” Beca explains, as if any of the Bellas really needed a strong incentive to dress up and party. “Let me know by Friday if you want to come.”

So of course they all end up going. 

Emily is practically vibrating with excitement as she follows the Bellas into the lobby of a five-star hotel, feeling like a million bucks as their heels click on the spotless linoleum floor as they make their way towards the ballroom.

Beca stops them in the doorway. “Okay, so like.” She runs a nervous hand through her straightened hair. Emily still can’t stop gaping at the sight of Beca in a dress; after almost a year of singing and hanging out together and not once has she witnessed the tiny girl in anything but pants. 

She looks  _super_ pretty tonight and Emily hopes her fluttering heartbeat is just pre-party jitters and not something stupid like...feelings.

“I know what I expected when I invited you guys but just please,  _please_  keep your usual level of ridiculousness down to a firm zero tonight, okay?” There’s a steely glint in Beca’s eyes, and they linger on Fat Amy. “Have fun but like...not too much fun.” 

“Is there an open bar?” Fat Amy asks, and Beca nods reluctantly. “No promises, then.”

The ballroom is lit with a soft, orange-y glow and Emily doesn’t bother hiding her gigantic smile. Decorative centerpieces! A dessert table! Spotless tablecloths! Fancy silverware! 

“Now that’s just extra af,” Cynthia Rose says as they pass the dessert table, shaking her head at the unicorn sculpture made entirely out of chocolate and decorated with various chocolate candies like M&Ms and mini Reeses cups. 

“So’s that but I’m not complaining.” Stacie nods towards the fully stocked open bar, and all the Bellas’ faces light up at the sight of the countless bottles lining the shelves. 

“Behave!” Beca hisses as they rush excitedly towards the bar. Emily lingers by the dessert table, tempted to snatch up a plate and all the mini cakes she can fit on it. As if Beca read her mind, she picks up a couple of plates and hands one to Emily. “You know, you could also get a drink if you want. They never card at these kinds of parties.” 

“Oh, no. I’m good right here.” Emily limits herself to three miniature cakes and a cream puff, firmly telling herself to save room for dinner. “You don’t want a drink?”

Beca lets out a deep and worried sigh. “I’d rather be sober in case something happens,” she admits, eyes flickering towards the bar. “Thanks for coming tonight, by the way. I honestly didn’t think you’d want to, seeing how destructive everyone can get.” 

“Are you  _kidding_? I  _love_  parties like this,” Emily gushes, bumping her arm against Beca’s. “I should be thanking you for inviting us.” 

“Well.” She pops a maraschino cherry in her mouth. “Glad someone’s here to actually enjoy the party and not the free drinks.” 

Then Beca smiles at her and the party just fades away into white noise. Emily physically feels her heart jump and suddenly her hands are  _way_  too sweaty. She can’t look away from Beca and how pretty she looks and how cute her smile is and how perfectly the light softens her lips and how Emily kind of just wants to lean in and...  

She blinks and snaps her gaze back to the mini pudding cups, heart now beating wildly. “Y-yeah. That’s...what I’m here for,” she says, forcing a smile. 

“Hey, uh.” Beca glances around quickly and pitches her voice low like she has a secret to tell. “Do you want a kiss as bad as I do right now?”

Emily almost drops her plate. “ _What?_ ”

“Like, yeah, I don’t know if we’re allowed to but like...” she points to the chocolate unicorn sculpture, “...they’re like,  _right_  there and it’s super tempting.” 

Confused and still panicking, Emily squints at the sculpture and relief and various other conflicting emotions flood her body so fast that she feels weak in the knees. Among the other chocolate candies lining the base of the sculpture, there’s a solid line of Hershey’s Kisses bordering the chocolate platform. 

“O-oh. Um.” 

“Eh, whatever. Should be fine,” Beca shrugs, plucking one from its place in the sculpture. “Want one?”

“Y-no. No, I’m good.” 

“Suit yourself.” She plucks a couple more and winks at Emily. “You’re missing out.” 

And then she’s gone, weaving her way through the crowd towards the bar to usher everyone towards their table so they don’t monopolize the helpless bartender. Emily stares after her, silently cursing the idiot at Hershey who decided to name the candy a Kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	27. timpano adventures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why not BOTH
> 
> 19\. “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”  
> AND  
> 40\. “You’re so fucking adorable” (not in that order but w/e)
> 
> this is NOT the video that this fic references but it’s more fun  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpUDblEURdY&t=588s

 Things start getting loopy around their third straight hour of cooking dinner. 

“Hey, hey Beca, look! Look look!  _Look_  over  _here_ , I swear to  _god_.”

“ _No_ , I’m busy, you goof.” 

Refusing to be distracted by whatever Emily’s up to now, Beca concentrates extra hard on separating egg whites. She’s admittedly exhausted from all the prep they’ve been doing, and the kitchen is still oppressively hot from the oven and the stovetops even with all of the windows thrown open. 

After watching a Buzzfeed recipe video on the most difficult pasta dish, Emily had the idea of attempting to make a timpano for the Bellas, as if those bitches didn’t get enough free food from Chloe and Jessica cooking them full-ass meals every damn weekend. A timpano is literally fifty different kinds of sauces and meats and dishes all layered and wrapped up in dough like some monstrous pasta cake, and even by watching a time-lapse recipe video, Beca knew this would  _not_  be worth her time. 

But despite her grumbling, Beca was weak and caved easily under her girlfriend’s puppy dog eyes. Being in a relationship isn’t anything new to Beca, but being in a relationship with Emily? Tooootally different ball game.

“You’re not too busy to give me like, two seconds of attention.”

“Emily, I swear, if you’re just holding that sausage by your goddamn crotch again, I’m dumping this egg down your back. It can’t possibly be more important than me not getting egg whites in this yolk.”

Emily gasps dramatically. “What’d you mean? I’m  _always_  more important.” 

Relenting with a sigh, Beca lowers the last egg and looks up. 

Boiling pot of pasta left forgotten behind her, Emily stands with her hands on her hips and her mouth set in a thin line, an uncooked large pasta shell clamped firmly on her nose. 

Beca closes her eyes. She bites down hard on her lip. She holds in her breath. She  _wills_  herself not to crack even the smallest smile. But Emily breaks and starts giggling first, and there’s no way she can restrain her laughter with that adorable giggle ringing in her ears. 

“Fuck you,” she huffs, pretending to throw the egg at Emily and making her flinch through her tearful mirth. Then, either from the surprise of Beca’s feign or from the pasta shell clamping down her nose, Emily lets out a sharp snort, sending them both to the floor with laughter. 

They don’t stop until the pot boils over and the hiss of disrupted flames cut through their breathless wheezing.

“You,” Beca says, lowering the heat and stirring the pot a bit, “are so fucking adorable.” She plucks the pasta shell from Emily’s nose and replaces it with her lips. “Even though you suck at cooking pasta.” 

“Mmm that’s why you’re here.”

“I can’t believe I’m the better cook out of the two of us.” 

“Hey, I’m better at baking. That’s  _different_.”

“Well, we’re  _baking_  this monstrosity, you should be an expert.” 

Emily just shakes her head and goes back to stirring the pasta shells. Beca finally gets all the yolks she needs and start whisking everything up for the outside covering. She dumps out a literal pound of flour and makes a well for the eggs, mentally preparing herself for the amount of dough she has to roll out for this gigantic meat cake. 

“Shells are done,” Emily announces, wrapping her arms around Beca’s waist from behind. “Gonna wait for them to cool before stuffing them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

She pours the eggs into the well and slowly whisks them into the flour. Emily’s breath tickles at Beca’s ear as she watches the older girl work the goopy mixture into a firm, smooth dough. 

“Hey.”

Beca reflexively narrows her eyes at Emily’s voice, expecting another distraction, but lets down her guard at the mellow tone. “Hmm?”

“Thanks.” 

“For?”

Emily doesn’t answer. Poking at the dough to make sure it’s the right consistency, Beca rips off a piece of plastic wrap to cover it up for a half hour. She brushes the flour and dough from her hands and pivots to face Emily’s heart-melting smile. 

“Uh. What’re you thanking me for?”

“For this. And for everything,” Emily whispers, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I know you hate this kind of...domestic stuff. Like, we’ve been in here for hours without a break and you didn’t leave me once.”

“Honestly?” Beca smirks, knowing she’s about to ruin the moment a bit, “leaving you alone in here didn’t seem like the safest option.” 

“You’re probably right,” Emily agrees with a small smile. Her hands fidget nervously at the hem of Beca’s shirt. “And okay, I know making this gigantic pasta cake is a weird thing to have a life-changing revelation over, but. Um. I don’t think I’ve ever been so comfortable with someone like this. Like...like with you, I mean. It feels so  _right_  when we’re together, doing dumb stuff like this, and I’m usually like, so,  _so_  afraid to be my dumb self around other people. But you...you make me feel like...like...”

Beca waits patiently for Emily to find her words. “Like?”

“I think...” She clears her throat and lets out a shaky breath. “I think I’m in love with you,” she whispers, “and that scares the  _crap_  out of me.”

The breath whooshes out of Beca’s body all at once and she deflates under Emily’s soft gaze. “Yeah,” she breathes, “it scares the crap out of me too.” 

Her brain slams on the brakes and the tires screech to a halt. “Wait, that came out wrong,” Beca says quickly. “I meant. Um. Yeah, I...I think I’m in love with you too. And that scares the crap out of me. Too. Oh, my god, what the hell am I saying. I’m so sorry.” 

But Emily just laughs and gently presses their lips together. “Now who’s being fucking adorable?”

“Mmm, no, you’re not allowed to curse, you’ll turn me on.” 

“Oh?” Emily leans back a little with a smirk. “Then I guess we better finish this up so we can throw it in the oven. After that, we’ll have 45 minutes to do, well, whatever we want...until it’s done,” she says, trailing a finger up Beca’s spine.

“God, can you  _not_  do things like that while reciting a friggen recipe?”

With a sunny smile and a quick peck to Beca’s cheek, Emily hops over to fetch the stuffing from the fridge while Beca shakes her head and readies the pasta shells. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	28. come home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a tumblr number prompt list:  
> 39\. “Please come home, I miss you”
> 
> also enjoy this rare angst bc it’s monday and I was lowkey hating life

A small buzz breaks through the monotonous drone of the car engine and Beca snaps back to reality from the brink of highway hypnosis. The sky is pitch black, the dashboard clock is itching to switch to midnight, and the caffeine high she’d been riding since 7pm is coming to a dangerously abrupt end. The never-ending streetlights lining the highway mimic a child’s rotating night light, blinking and swirling shadows around in a hazy kaleidoscope that even a fully-alert person would struggle to remain clear-headed through.

Beca glances down at her bag in the passenger seat, its contents illuminated by the ghostly glow of her phone screen. Quickly double-checking her mirrors, she leans over and digs through the bag to fish out her buzzing phone. 

Her heart lurches painfully at the caller ID and the accompanying photo. 

She flicks on her blinkers — despite her complete solitude on the highway —  and swerves sharply into the shoulder before slamming hard on her brakes. The phone continues to vibrate as she turns on her hazards and puts her car in park. 

_Answer it. Answer the damn phone. Answer. The fucking. Phone._

But Beca can hardly look at the screen, much less swipe to take the call. As the phone goes silent and still in her hand, a wave of shame, guilt, and unfathomable anger towards herself crashes down over her head, leaving her struggling to breathe. 

_Call back. Call back right now. I swear to god, if you don’t call back right now..._

The gentle clicking of the hazard lights is practically deafening in the silent car. Beca can hear her shallow breaths mixing with the pounding of her heart, all three of the repetitive beats creating a chaotic rhythm of anxiety in her head. 

A minute passes. Then two. Then three. 

The phone screen remains dark. Stewing in the soft but rancorous noise, Beca tightens and loosens the grip on her phone, thumb hovering over the unlock button.  _Call back, you_ fucking _coward_. 

Then her phone starts buzzing again.

Her eyes close sharply at the smiling face on her screen.  _Answer it. Answer it answer it answeritansweritansweritans —_

She hits the green button and brings the phone to her ear. 

A brief, tense moment of silence passes before Beca realizes that she’s supposed to say hello first. But then the moment’s gone and there’s an anvil in her throat and she doesn’t know whether to even bother saying hello or if she should just —

“Beca?” 

The familiar voice punches straight into her gut. Letting out a slow breath to relieve the phantom pain, Beca leans forward and rests her forehead against the steering wheel. 

Even from that one word, Emily sounds sad, scared, tired, and painfully lonely.

“Beca, are you there?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, unable to get her vocal chords to cooperate. “I’m here.” 

There’s a warble of incomprehensible noise from the other line, probably a sigh or a breath of relief. “Um. Wh-...uh. Where are you?”

A wild range of responses flash across Beca’s tongue, ready to be tipped out into the phone mic. 

_Not in our bed, thanks to you._

_Why do you care?_

_Wandering the streets, homeless, because_ someone _decided I wasn’t good enough to keep around._

_On the highway, about to pass out at the wheel._

_Dead in a ditch for all you know._

_Why do you care?_

_Why do you care?_

_Why do you CARE?_

“Studio session ran late,” she says softly, holding back the accusatory question. “I’m headed back to Amy’s right now. That’s...that’s where I’ve been staying.”  _Since we broke up_ , are four more words she barely has the energy to suppress. She bites down on her tongue to keep them in. 

“Oh.” 

And the line goes quiet. Beca taps restlessly at the steering wheel, hating how she can go from a tired and bored lump driving home at midnight to a high-strung ball of stress slightly rocking back and forth in the driver’s seat on the shoulder of the interstate all because of one phone call. It’s been less than a week since they’d had that fight and Beca had stormed out of their apartment to crash on Amy’s lumpy couch. If they’re making these kinds of calls before even a week has passed, how are they supposed to keep this up?

“Why...what is this about?” Beca asks, too tired to put any kind of emotion in her question. “Why are you calling?”  _What do you want?_

“I...um.” Her voice sounds thick and Beca knows she’s trying not to cry. She squeezes her own eyes shut, gripping her phone tighter to will any tears away. “Beca...just...please come home,” Emily begs quietly. “I miss you.” 

And as if she’d been waiting for those words, Beca lifts her head and throw herself back into the seat, letting her head bounce lifelessly against the headrest. 

_Tell her you miss her too. Tell her. Tell her! Say, “I miss you too.” Don’t be that bitch. Stop acting tough. Tell her you miss —_

“You made it clear that I wasn’t worth waiting around for. That you’d rather be with someone who prioritizes you over their work. And look what time it is,” she snaps, gesturing to her dashboard clock like Emily could see it. “You can’t miss someone who was never there for you, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Emily says quickly. “That was...I didn’t  _mean_  that. It was late and we were tired and...I said things that were really unfair. And that...and everything about that was selfish of me to say.” 

“Yeah, well. You weren’t wrong,” Beca mumbles, watching a lone eighteen-wheeler rush past her. “We both know you deserve someone better.”

She doesn’t know how those heavy words fall so easily from her mouth. But judging by the pregnant pause on the other end, Emily’s just as shocked at the blunt admission as she is.

“Beca, please,” she whispers. 

“Look, it’s late,” Beca says shortly. “I’m literally ten minutes away from Amy’s place and it’s an hour in the opposite direction from here to our—...the apartment.” 

Either from Beca’s tone or amendment or both, Emily goes quiet for a solid 30 seconds. “Okay,” she says at last. “Okay, yeah. Yup. You’re right. That was...I’m sorry. That was dumb. I shouldn’t have...yeah.” She laughs drily and Beca deflates. 

“Can we just...do this another time?” she asks tightly. 

“Yeah. Sure.” Emily’s voice sounds dead. “Sorry to bother you. Good night, Beca.” 

She hesitates again, words clogging up in her throat, and she doesn’t quite manage to force out a good night before Emily hangs up. Four blaring dial tones beep into her ear before the line goes dead, and Beca slowly lowers the phone and tosses it back in her bag. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, so soft that she couldn’t even hear her own voice over the clicking of the hazard lights. She watches her knuckles turn white as she grips the steering wheel with enough force to make her arms shake. “What the  _fuck_ , man,” she snarls at herself, a sudden, white-hot anger flashing through her veins. “Really have to fuck everything up, don’t you?”

The anger vanishes as soon as it appears, leaving Beca drained and miserable. 

 _I miss you too_.

“Oh my god, fuck this.” 

She throws her car into drive and guns it back onto the highway. With her mouth set in a hard line, she swerves out the next exit, yanking the steering wheel in the opposite direction of Amy’s apartment and U-turning back onto the other side of the highway. 

Headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	29. come home pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt (request from ao3 comments): "part 2 with Emily’s reaction of when beca gets there?"

****Emily’s made a lot of embarrassing mistakes in life.

On those sleepless nights where every humiliating moment since childhood replays in her head like some torturous slideshow that’d run at her wedding from hell, there’re always a few select memories that weedle their way in to make her extra miserable. 

Like the time she accidentally spilled soda all over her dad’s work desk. Or the time she got in trouble for breaking a window in middle school. The awful mess that was her first kiss with a boy she didn’t actually like. Even something like her first disastrous Bella’s performance, which was  _definitely_  not her fault, sometimes gets thrown into the mix.

And while getting into a stupid fight with Beca and letting her walk out of the apartment is now high on the list of Things To Eternally Regret, Emily can’t believe she’d topped that awful memory with such an embarrassing decision to drop a call in the middle of the night. 

She lies curled up in bed with her phone, staring at her call history and occasionally tapping the screen to keep the backlight on. The name at the top, accompanied by several heart emojis, looks incredibly out of place next to the single-digit call time. 

Her calls to Beca usually last much longer than 3 minutes and 52 seconds. 

Emily squeezes her eyes shut and tosses her phone to the side, hating that she hadn’t been strong enough to overcome that moment of weakness, that she’d given into the loneliness and reached out to Beca first despite claiming that she doesn’t need someone who doesn’t put her first. Now that Emily had called begging for her to come home, that whole fight feels like a bigger waste of time and broken hearts than ever before. 

_You’re the one who wanted to end it, right? So what’re you doing, calling her in the middle of the night like a typical clingy ex?_

“I don’t know,” she whispers to herself, curling into a tighter ball. If Emily could take back that phone call, those measly 3 minutes and 52 seconds that did nothing but re-break her heart, she would do it without hesitation.

There’s a buzz at the door and Emily drags her heavy body over to the intercom.

“Yeah?” she croaks. 

“Delivery for 306?” a tired male voice crackles from the speaker. 

She buzzes him in and jumps into the bathroom to make sure she doesn’t look like a horrendous mess. A regular mess is fine, this is a guy delivering food at 1 in the morning. Emily’s sure he’s seen worse than some red noses and puffy eyes. 

Throwing on a sweatshirt, she rummages in her bag for her wallet, pulling out a few singles for the tip. Dissatisfied, she digs around for a few quarters to add to the bills she’d found, shuffling to the door when she hears a knock. 

“Guess $3.75 will have to do,” she mutters, tossing her bag aside. 

And opens the door to the last person she would’ve expected to see. 

“Hi,” Beca says meekly. 

Emily blinks rapidly, feeling her mouth fall open. Her chest tightens so suddenly and intensely that she forgets how to breathe. There’re a million things she wants to say but not a single word makes it from her brain to her mouth. 

Beca holds out a greasy paper bag. “Uh. Here. I ran into the delivery guy in the hallway. I hope $5 was a good tip.” 

“H-how, uh,” Emily clears her throat, finally finding her voice. She gingerly takes the bag from Beca. “How did you know it was mine?”

The familiar scoff and rolling eyes send a lightning bolt of emotions through her heart. 

“Who else would order this grease sandwich at this time of night? Our apartment’s full of like, old people and families with little kids.” 

_Our apartment. Our. Apartment. Not ‘the’ apartment. Our. Our our our our._

Knowing that if she’d start crying if she tried to say another word, Emily tosses the bag aside to pull Beca inside and into a tight and desperate hug. Beca stiffens at the sudden embrace but Emily doesn’t dare let go; something tells her that if she lets go, Beca will disappear forever. 

After a beat of hesitation, Beca shifts to carefully close the door behind her and melts into Emily’s arms with a soft sigh. And now she can’t stop the tears from coming, can’t hold back the pathetic sob, can’t help but to squeeze tighter even though she knows Beca always complains when she hugs too tight. Because she’s here, Beca’s  _here_ , back home where she belongs, and Emily doesn’t know what to do or what to say to make sure she never leaves again. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

Beca swallows thickly, her hands clenching into fists. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.” 

“Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

“Ever.”

“I won’t. Ever.” The sound of Beca’s voice breaking hits like a speeding truck straight into Emily’s chest. She loosens her grip, still not daring to let go. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says, touching a hand to Beca’s face. 

“Yeah, well. You, uh, asked me to be here, so.” She looks down at the floor as if she’s embarrassed to have gone through with such a grand gesture.

“But you said you were an hour away.”

“Believe it or not, the roads are pretty empty this time of the night,” she shrugs. “Got here in like, 45.” 

“But it’s...so late.”

“1am? Psh, that’s nothing.”

“But—”

Beca presses a finger to Emily's mouth. “I’m here. You asked me to come home and I did.” She leans up on her toes to kiss Emily, movements soft and slow as if she’s afraid to break something. “That’s all that matters for now,” she mumbles. 

“I...yeah. You’re right.” Emily bends down to pick up the discarded takeout bag, still not letting go of Beca’s hand. “Um. Thank you. For coming home.” 

“Thank you for calling me,” she responds quietly. 

Placing her now-cold sandwich on the counter, Emily catches sight of the clock on the microwave and winces. “Um, we should...sleep, right? In case you have to work for another 16 hours tomorrow.” 

“Oh, um.” Beca hesitates as she lets Emily lead them to their bedroom. “I actually...took tomorrow off.” 

Shock roots Emily to the spot. “Wh-... _really?”_

“Yeah, well we wrapped on this one artist today so tomorrow would just be a light day and a work party afterwards, so.” She digs around in her closet for a sleep shirt. “Thought time’d be better spent with you inst —  _ho_ ly shit.”

Emily tackles Beca in another hug, almost knocking the smaller girl off her feet. “Thank you. Oh my stars, thank you, Beca.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she says nonchalantly, though Emily can clearly hear the smile in her voice. “I mean, I’m definitely gonna work on cutting back on my hours and shit, but. It’s a start.” 

“You’re the best.”

Beca pauses and carefully unwraps Emily’s arms from around her. “I’m not. Like, at all. But, uh. For you, I’d like to be.” She smiles at Emily then, tired but genuine. “I love you, Em.”

“Yeah,” Emily smiles against Beca’s lips. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this post if you want to send me a number prompt:  
> http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/post/181659552599/prompt-list
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> as always, prompts accepted at a slow turnaround rate: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/ask


	30. distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "how about a Bemily where one of them is crushing so hard, that they become distracted during a show/ practice and fall off stage? Bonus points if you can fit in a "I guess you keep falling for me" or something like that in there."

It really didn’t matter that the esteemed Beca Mitchell was a pint-sized sass-mouth with a scrappy attitude and an obvious case of senioritis; within the first few seconds of meeting her, Emily felt her heart inflate like a balloon in its deceptive way of telling her that she was doomed. Two sentences exchanged in a shout at a backyard college tiki party and Emily fell head over heels for this aloof and standoffish ball of sarcasm.

To be fair, she didn’t consider it anything more than admiration at first.

“I mean she’s just like, so cool, you know?” she tells her roommate for the bajillionth time as they both grab lunch at the dining hall. “There’s just this…this energy around her at practice — when she’s there, which, okay, admittedly isn’t a  _lot_  — that kinda makes you feel like you can conquer the world if you do exactly as she says.”

“Sounds kinky,” her roommate mutters, and Emily flicks a french fry at her. “Hey!”

“It’s not  _kinky_ , it’s inspiring.”

“Oh,  _inspiring_. Sure, that’s what it is.”

Emily narrows her eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, immediately regretting her question when she sees the telltale teasing smirk on her roommate’s face.

“It means that you wouldn’t know you had a crush if this Beca girl punched you in the face with it.”

“What? A crush? That’s…no. Wrong. Yeah, wrong. You’re wrong. Absolutely ridiculous.”  

She tries to laugh it off, but the seed is planted and now that’s all she can think about.

It’s stupid, really, how nerve-wracking practice is now that her roommate had opened her eyes to something that should’ve been sealed away for eternity. Every time Beca gave instructions to the girls or so much as looked in Emily’s direction, the heart palpitations and panic sweats erupt out of nowhere.  

“Might wanna hide that toner, Legacy,” Fat Amy whispers loudly to her during one practice after Emily stutters out an embarrassing string of nonsense words to a simple question from Beca.

“Wh-no! I don’t have a…” but Amy’s already walking away and now Emily’s hyper-aware of the sly smirks and subtle eyebrow wiggles the other Bellas are shooting her way.

Yeah, okay, so maybe she does have a crush on her elusive spitfire captain. But honestly, who can blame her? Beca may be a hardass sometimes but there’re so many layers packed into that tiny body that Emily is only beginning to get to know. Her playful humor counters her practical bluntness. Her merciless drilling balances out her goofy downtime. Her surly personality is offset by her infinite kindness.

Emily notices the pattern in all of her past crushes and how Beca fits in seamlessly. Cute and funny? Check. Sympathetic and patient? Check. Acts tough on the outside but is really a big softie on the inside?

Big check.

Mmm, yup, she’s  _totally_  doomed.

But nothing pushes her over the edge as much as when she sees Beca dance for the first time. 

Not like, the half-assed, lazy swaying thing that she usually did during practices, where she floated through the choreo like she doesn’t have the time or energy to care. No, like, when she  _really_  dances, hitting all the marks precisely on time and swinging her body and limbs around with agility and grace that Emily would never have expected from this moody, closed-off brick wall of a human who would moan and groan about two laps around the auditorium.

Beca can  _work it._ And Emily’s pretty sure her heart does actual backflips watching her _move_  her body so effortlessly. 

It doesn’t help that it’s during their first full run-through of this set and Beca’s like,  _right_  in front of Emily, turning her hips like  _that_  and running her hands down her torso with so much uncharacteristic sensualness that Emily looks away sharply. 

So sharply, in fact, that she steps off for the next move a beat too early and ends up tripping over her own foot, sending her stumbling onto the floor.

“Wait guys, stop!”

“Whoa, shit.”

“You alright, Legacy?” 

Emily’s cheeks are on fire as she scrambles to her feet and brushes the dirt from her hands. Everyone’s looking at her and Emily fumbles for an excuse. “Y-yeah. Sorry. I...miscounted.” 

Which makes her sound a lot more inexperienced than she actually is. Emily knows this choreo like the back of her hand, had it practiced and memorized since last week, and could probably do it in her sleep. And she hates the understanding looks that the Bellas give her, like it makes sense for Emily to mess up since she’s new to all of this.

But she’d rather be seen as an amateur freshman than a lovesick idiot.

“It’s okay,” Chloe says reassuringly. “We’ll take it from the top again.” 

As everyone shuffles back into their starting positions, Fat Amy bumps her arm against Emily. “Something on your mind, Legacy?” she teases. “Or...some _one_?”

Emily ignores her, rubbing furiously at her cheeks as if that would get rid of the blush. But then Beca passes her with a quick smile and the blush returns with full force. Because Beca Mitchell, the calm and composed senior with the I’m-too-cool-to-exercise vibe who Emily had always thought was too proud to show even the smallest hint up vulnerability, is panting and sweating like everyone else. 

Beca — the tiny girl with the huge lungs and powerful voice —  _breathless_. 

 _Why_  does Emily find that so attractive?

She snaps to attention as Chloe starts counting off, looking determinedly away from Beca throughout the entire dance. But she’s soon to find out that a distracted Emily and intensive choreography don’t mix well at all. 

It goes fine for like, one run-through. But then they run it again. And again. And after a break,  _again_. And it gets harder and harder each time for Emily to keep her eyes off of Beca, which she thinks is totally unfair because she should be getting desensitized to something like this, not feeling  _more_  tempted to watch.

And for the next week, that temptation only grows with each practice and each run-through. 

It’s not like, a  _sexual_  thing. Emily’s hardly ever considered the sexual aspects of crushing on someone, but she knows if she told her roommate, she’d be wiggling her eyebrows at Emily and implying that “ _some_ one wants a lap dance,” which is  _totally_  not true, Emily’s pretty sure that receiving a lap dance from Beca would be traumatizing for both parties involved. 

So no, it’s not definitely not sexual attraction. 

It’s just... _mesmerizing_ , if she’s being honest, watching an introverted tomboy like Beca dancing around so comfortably. Emily’s seen Beca lead the Bellas with authority and confidence, but this is something else entirely.

And her increasing clumsiness is more than enough proof.  

The practices leading up to the performance are some of Emily’s worst yet. Chloe books them some rehearsal time in an auditorium on the far side of campus to get a feel for their choreography and sound on stage. They sound great, they look great, and they  _feel_  great...except Emily keeps screwing up bits and pieces of choreo and lyrics here and there. 

For the record, she only falls  _one_  more time. Sure, she might’ve almost fallen completely off the stage had Flo and Stacie not caught the back of her shirt, but it’s just  _once_. And there isn’t a broken neck to show for it, so everyone wins. 

It’s enough for the captains to call for a break.

“Just...don’t be nervous,” is Chloe’s only advice to her. “It’s not gonna be a huge crowd so there’s no pressure.”

“I’m not nervous,” Emily mutters, which is true, she  _isn’t_  nervous about performing, but it’s also false because she’s nervous about something else. Sighing and shaking her head at her own stupidity, Emily plops down on the choir risers towards the back of the stage, digging the heels of her palms into her temples as she watches the other Bellas mill around the stage.

“Hey, this seat taken?”

Beca doesn’t wait for Emily to respond before taking a seat next to her. “Uh.” Emily looks down the length of the empty risers. “Huh. Guess everywhere else is full, huh?”

“Don’t worry about stumbles like that,” Beca says, ignoring the observation. “You should’ve seen me when we were trying to learn our first intensive dance. It was a pretty hot mess.”

Emily bites back the comment and thought that rises at ‘hot.’ The last thing she needs right now is a mental image of Beca learning how to dance. “Yeah, no, I know. It’s just...I’m... just a little distracted, I guess,” she dares to admit.

“Mmm. Well. Hope it’s not because of me,” Beca says, bumping her shoulder against Emily’s and smirking easily. “I know it’s like, super hard to avoid looking at me because I’m drop-dead gorgeous and everything.”

 _She’s just teasing she’s just teasing she’s just teasing._ “Y-yeah. Because you’re just... _so_  distracting,” Emily agrees, forcing a laugh and hoping to  _god_  that she actually sounds sarcastic. 

Beca seems to buy it because she hops to her feet with a chuckle, tossing her water onto her bag. "Don’t go _falling_ for me, Legacy,” she says with a wink before wandering off to where Flo’s explaining something to Fat Amy on the whiteboard, a slight spring in her step.  

“Well you can’t just  _say_  that and not expect me to,” Emily grumbles, rubbing at her cheeks again as Chloe calls an end to their break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> prompts are kind of on hold right now because I'm trying to work on my WIPs but feel free to leave some: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/
> 
> (also sidenote I cannot believe I actually hit 30 chapters like?? I wrote???? 30???? minifics????????? impossible)


	31. new year's day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "bemily fic for the nyd playing on vinyl audio post you reblogged??"
> 
> in reference to this audio post from tumblr:  
> http://chloebeale.tumblr.com/post/181951286499/taylor-swift-nyd-playing-on-vinyl-while-it-rains

Emily slowly emerges from a dreamless sleep into hazy consciousness at around 2pm. She cracks open her heavy eyelids to a dark apartment, completely silent but for the sound of the steady rain outside. For some reason she’s lying on the couch instead of her bed, and it takes a moment for her to realize that it’s not a blanket covering her — it’s an honest-to-god sheet of bubble wrap.

She rips it off and bolts upright, wincing at the dull headache that erupts right above her eyes. The couch creaks under the sudden movement and the bubble wrap crinkles and rustles as it falls to the floor; the small but noticeable commotion causes several figures collapsed around various parts of the apartment to stir and blink awake. 

Emily recognizes a few of them. There’s Cynthia Rose at the kitchen table, straightening up stiffly from where she was sleeping with her arms pillowing her head. Jessica and Ashley groan from the floor, one on either side of the coffee table, massaging their sore backs and aching heads. Chloe lies squished in the loveseat, her legs dangling over the side and her arm shielding her eyes. She assumes the other Bellas had left the night before or earlier this morning.

The other five or six people now getting to their feet and rummaging around for their belongings are coworkers and significant others that Emily had only met the night before. She doesn’t remember their names and she has a feeling they don’t remember hers, but they still exchange tired smiles. 

Cracking her joints and stretching out the kinks in her neck, Emily heaves her exhausted body off of the couch to help pull out coats from the closet and fetch water for whoever needs it. Chloe’s only wearing one shoe for a reason no one can recall, and it takes everyone a significant amount of time to locate the other. By that time, all of the non-Bellas had left one by one with a sincere word of gratitude and well-wishes for the new year.

Emily had almost forgotten they were up until 6am celebrating the new year.

As if woken by the sound of the front door opening and closing so many times, Beca finally emerges from the bedroom with her signature scowl, beelining straight for the coffee machine. She’s wearing an old BU hoodie and pajama shorts, dressed appropriately for sleep unlike Emily, who apparently was not sober enough last night to even change out of tight jeans and turtleneck before passing out. 

Smiling at how effortlessly adorable Beca is even in her grumpy morning state, Emily offers a raspy greeting, not even caring that she sounds like a 50-year-old smoker. Beca just grunts in response, eyes barely open. She digs into the sink cabinet while her coffee brews, emerging with a handful of garbage bags. 

And that’s when Emily notices the trash heap that is their apartment. Empty solo cups strewn everywhere. Half-full bottles of beer and cider and countless other types of alcohol placed on every available surface. Crushed soda and beer cans litter the floor. A stack of playing cards lay scattered on the sticky coffee table. They must’ve set off some party poppers at some point — probably at midnight— because there’s glitter and confetti all over the floor and tables. 

It’s not a horrible mess. The aftermath of Treble’s parties back in college were much,  _much_ worse; at least this one doesn’t include any major property destruction or unclaimed vomit. 

Beca’s already grabbing half-full bottles and dumping them out in the sink, and Emily takes a garbage bag from her to start collecting the empty bottles. The remaining Bellas offer to help clean up, and Jessica actually starts to pick up some of the trash, but Emily politely declines and insist they head home and get proper sleep. Reluctant but compliant, they let Emily shepherd them out the door, exchanging tired goodbyes and promises for more reunions this year.

The apartment suddenly feels empty with all of them gone. Rubbing tiredly at her eyes, Beca shuffles over to the bookshelf where they store their ever-growing collection of CDs and vinyls, and thumbs through the albums before pulling one out. 

Emily fetches a broom and dust pan from the closet as Beca pulls out a record from its sleeve and carefully places it on the turntable. Instead of placing the stylus at the edge of the record, she lifts it closer to the middle, almost towards the end of the album. 

Then the song starts playing and Emily smiles at how perfectly fitting it is.

 _There's glitter on the floor after the party_  
_Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby_  
_Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor_

“ _You and me from the night before,_ ” Emily mutter-sings to herself as she finishes collecting all the bottles with liquid still sloshing around inside, gathering them all in the sink to dump all at once. She’d found a whopping six bottles of champagne rolling around the apartment, and she wonders how on earth they all managed to wake up today. 

 _Don’t read the last page_  
_But I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you’re turning away_  
_I want your midnights_  
_But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day_

There’s a tug on her elbow and suddenly Beca’s pulling her out of the kitchen and into the living room, a sleepy but playful light in her eyes. When she stops and turns to face her, Emily thinks she’s going in for a hug or a kiss but then they’re dancing, swaying lazily back and forth to the music, and Emily feels her heart melt to a puddle.   

 _You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi_  
_I can tell that it's going to be a long road_  
_I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe  
_ _Or if you strike out and you're crawling home_

Beca had never initiated a slow dance like this before, and Emily doesn’t know what part of her hungover brain decided that this much movement before coffee is a good idea, but she doesn’t dare question it lest she ruin this perfect combination of soft music, gloomy weather, light dancing, comfortable warmth, and Beca.

_Don't read the last page  
But I stay when it's hard or it’s wrong or you’re making mistakes_

“ _I want your midnights_ ,” Emily sings along softly, and Beca automatically falls into the harmony with a smile. “ _But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day._ ”

_Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you_

Beca brings their joined hands to her face, lips brushing across Emily’s knuckles.

_Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you_

Emily brushes back a few stray hairs from Beca’s forehead and presses a kiss there.

_Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you_

“ _And I will hold on to you_ ,” she finishes.

Beca sinks forward and wraps her arms around Emily as the song and the record wind to a stop. They stand there in the growing darkness, garbage left forgotten, listening to the rain and taking comfort in each other’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> I know I SAID prompts are on hold because I'm trying to work on my WIPs but evidently I'm weak af to some prompts so take your shot here: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


	32. v-day troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Something bad happens to Emily and she tries to hide it from the Bellas but Beca is the only one to see through her bullshit and comfort etc. ensues?"
> 
> A/N: this is 95% based on a conversation that actually happened in my human life so everyone is super OOC but whAtEveR man just roll with it everyone stay calm it's all good 
> 
> also I meant to post this on Valentine's day so I could take a break from procrastinating bemily week but as usual I am. slow.

As is Valentine’s tradition in the holiday hell hole that is the Bella house, Beca starts the day off with a strong cup of coffee and an hour or so of mental preparation for whatever grossly overdone bonding activity is to come later that day. If years of living with these monsters taught her anything, it’s that resistance is futile when it comes to celebrating even the most meaningless holidays. 

It’s better to just go with the flow than to try and swim upstream only to drown.

“We’re baking cookies!” Chloe announces once everyone’s gathered in the living room. Beca arches an eyebrow.  _Well, that’s not so ba —_  “And brownies, and cupcakes, and rice krispie treats, and banana bread, and whoopie pies, and  _maybe_  we’ll tackle macrons. Oh! And chocolate-covered strawberries!”

“Question,” Beca says, raising her hand. “Are we opening a bakery, or...?”

“Well, I was thinking we could host a bake sale tomorrow since it’s BU open house.” 

“The Bellas have enough funds,” Beca rolls her eyes, “We have like, a million obsessed alumni who donate every year.” 

“The money would go to charity, Becs.” 

“Well, now I just sound like an asshole.”

“You mean your usual self, then?” Fat Amy chimes in. 

“Okay, then it’s settled!” Chloe says brightly as Beca glares daggers at Amy. “We’ll start after practice, say around 6?” 

And as far as V-Day celebrations go, this is by far the least gooey, icky, romantic activity they’d done; Beca’s weirdly okay with this plan. Shivering at the memory of the year they’d spent the entire day watching rom-coms and stuffing themselves with literal pounds of chocolate, Beca joins in the dull chorus of affirmation. 

But then the chaos starts after practice and she reconsiders her feelings towards this activity choice. 

Shopping for ingredients is a nightmare, which really isn’t unexpected with all of them sharing a shopping cart and arguing over which brand of flour is better. Baking is another nightmare, which also isn’t unexpected considering only Jessica and Emily actually know how to bake. Decorating is by far the messiest nightmare, which is very unexpected; Beca had been prepared to clean up doughy bowls and crumby counter tops, not scrape dried frosting off the chairs or wipe up endless fields of glittery sprinkles. 

Separately, each form of chaos is relatively easy to handle, but when they start piling up one after the other, Beca starts to feel her energy and tolerance rapidly decrease. Before she snaps and storms out in one of her classic Temper Tantrums, she kicks Ashley off the stove and takes over chocolate melting duty to distance herself from the rest of the kitchen. 

A sense of calm washes over Beca as she falls into the soothing, hypnotizing process of stirring the melted chocolate, dipping in a strawberry, and laying it out on the tray. The yelling and the mess of the others might only be a few feet away, but as long as there’re no body parts rubbing against her, Beca might as well be in a whole different room. 

Until Emily bumps against her while reaching for something in the cabinets and snaps Beca out of her dissociation. 

“Oh, sorry!” she exclaims when Beca gives her a look. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“If you make a height joke I’m dumping this pot over your head.”

Emily visibly hesitates. “Can you...reach that high?”

An annoyingly harmonized chorus of  _OHHHH_  erupts behind them as the Bellas cheer on Emily’s roast. Beca just rolls her eyes and shoots a half-hearted glare at Emily. 

Alarm bells go off in her head.

“Hey, uh.” Beca pitches her voice low so only Emily can hear. “You okay?”

A confused crease forms between Emily’s eyebrows. “Uh. Yeah? Why?”

She shrugs. “I dunno, you seem like...down.”

“Do I?”  With an easy smile and a flash of movement so quick Beca almost misses it, Emily dips a finger into the melted chocolate and brings it to her mouth. “Could say the same to you, over here by your lonesome.”

And then she’s gone, hopping back over to the other Bellas, leaving Beca admittedly flustered but more skeptical than before. 

Tight smile. Downcast eyes. Not paying attention to surroundings. Deflecting.

Beca peeks over at Emily as she absentmindedly stirs at the pot to keep the chocolate from solidifying. Now that she’s thinking about it, Emily did seem quiet and less energized at practice earlier, and as one of the only two people in this damn group with baking experience, she’s oddly reserved in her comments about the dangerous violations in the recipe. 

Something’s bothering Emily. And maybe because hiding feelings and dodging questions is a Mitchell specialty, Beca seems to be the only person who’s noticed that something’s off. 

And it’s really not her place to butt into Emily’s business, but Beca’s just so used to all the other Bellas venting out their anger or sadness (or any emotion, really) without hesitation to anyone in the vicinity that Emily’s subtle mood change eerily reminds her of...well, herself. And Beca knows from experience that holding in negative thoughts and emotions in a happy group setting is one of the most stressful, painful, exhausting feelings in the world.

Throwing the last of the strawberries onto the tray and calling out an offering for anyone to lick up the finished pot and spoon of melted chocolate, Beca jumps out of the way as everyone rushes the stove. Satisfied with the distraction, she drifts over to Emily, still at the table mixing chocolate chips into the cookie dough. 

“Hey,” Beca starts again, nodding towards the door. “Come with me a sec.” 

“Oh, uh...” Emily looks down at her bowl and towards the other Bellas. 

“They’ll live.” 

Still uncertain but evidently not invested enough to fight for it, Emily abandons the dough and follows Beca out of the kitchen. “Is something wrong?” she asks as the clamor of the bake sale crew grows distant. 

 _Clearly yeah, with you_.

Beca bites back the words, knowing they’ll sound accusatory and confrontational; if someone said that to freshman year Beca, she would’ve shut down immediately. 

“Nah,” she shrugs instead. “Just wanted a break from...” A vague gesture back towards the kitchen is enough of an explanation for Emily. 

“Oh, yeah. I guess that’s fair. They’re a fun bunch, though.” 

“And are you having fun?” Beca casually risks asking. 

Confusion clouds Emily’s expression. “Yeah? Should I...not be?”

Exaggerated feigned ignorance. Defensiveness. Guarded tone. 

 _Jesus, it’s like looking in a mirror into the past_. If this is how stubborn she used to be, Beca wonders just how the Bellas managed to get this far with her. 

Not trusting herself to say something stupid and drive Emily away, Beca ignores the question and silently leads the way to her room. As usual, Amy’s side is noticeably messier, articles of clothing strewn on the floor too close to Beca’s bed for comfort. 

“You, uh, play guitar, right?” Beca asks awkwardly, painfully aware of how confused and suspicious Emily’s getting of this diversion from the bake-fest downstairs. She grabs at the dusty guitar sitting largely untouched in the corner of her room. “It’d be cool if you could tune this for me. I’d probably never play it again unless someone else does this.” 

Though she clearly has a ton of questions running through her mind, Emily slowly unfolds her arms from where they’re crossed protectively across her chest to tentatively take the guitar. She plucks at the strings and pulls a face at the sound they make. 

“Oh. Ew.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

She pulls out her phone for the tuner app and Beca offers her a seat on her bed. It’s been a while since Beca had even looked at that guitar, and she feels delayed relief that it’s intact enough for it to be tuned. 

“So. What’s this about?” Emily asks airily after a few minutes. “I mean, you know. Not that I don’t mind this weird form of bonding through unpaid musical labor, but.” She glances up at Beca through her eyelashes before strumming out a perfectly tuned chord. “I have this weird feeling you...wanna talk? Or something?”

“Well, that’s actually what I was gonna ask you.” Beca takes it as a sign of improvement that Emily doesn’t deflect again. “Like, you obviously don’t have to spill your life secrets or anything. But I just want you to know that you can talk to us  _—_ any of us  _—_ about what’s on your mind. Doesn’t have to be about Bellas stuff. Literally anything.” 

Emily strums quietly on the guitar, not meeting Beca’s eyes. 

“Or not, that’s cool too. Either way, just thought you’d want some peace and quiet from those hooligans while you’re like this, so.” She waves a lazy hand towards the rest of her room. “You’re welcome to chill up here. Talk or no talk. Or you can leave. Or you can ask me to leave so you can be alone.”

“No, I don’t want that,” Emily says softly. She plays a few more chords and a short, mellow riff that sounds like the intro to an indie track. “It’s stupid.” 

“No it’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re an upbeat kid and you don’t usually let the small things get to you,” Beca says. “That sounded cheesy, but whatever. You know I’m right. Anyway, go on.” 

A ghost of a smile appears on Emily’s face and Beca relaxes a little. 

“Okay, maybe it’s not stupid,” Emily admits, “but I wish it didn’t bother me this much.” She plays a few more riffs before slapping down a hand to silence the strings. “On my way to practice today, I...uh. A group of guys started yelling. At me.” 

“Oh. Holy shit.” 

“Yeah.”

“Like, you mean...”

“Yeah. Cat calling.”

“Holy shit,” Beca repeats, anger churning in her stomach. “Did you catch their faces? Were they frat guys? We know a lot of frat guys, we can probably find them and  _—”_

“No, um.” Tapping her fingers nervously against the guitar, Emily chews over her words before letting out a resigned sigh. "They were in a car. And they were...like...old. Not  _old_  old, but like, adults. And okay, look. Please,” she says, raising a hand before Beca can speak. “I don’t want this to be like, a big deal.”

Beca gapes. “Seriously? It  _is_  a big deal, dude!” 

Instead of answering, Emily, plucks a few muted notes on the guitar, fingers fumbling a little. Her mouth is a thin line. Beca recognizes the signs and backtracks, reigning in her emotions. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have yelled,” she says, lowering her voice. 

“It’s okay,” Emily says, equally quiet. “I knew you guys would react this way. I  _know_  I can come to you with any problems and you’ll all have my back. It’s just...” With a grimace, she lays the guitar down on Beca’s bed. “It was just...a lot. Dumb and pointless, sure, but also super embarrassing and degrading and...” her voice grows small. “...scary. And I’d rather just forget about it.” 

Beca hears the words but wants to ignore them, wants to appease the vengeance growing in her gut, wants to somehow track down the men who made Emily feel like this and make them feel the same pain and humiliation that they’d put her through.

But she also understands the feeling of wanting to move on from a needless traumatic experience and being surrounded by happy, clueless people to block out the freshness of the incident. 

“All right,” Beca sighs. “If that’s what you want to do. Sorry that happened to you. It’s shitty and you don’t deserve to feel like this.” She pauses. “And I’m sorry for cornering you like this. I didn’t mean to force this out or make you relive it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Emily says, smiling lightly. “Don’t be sorry, I appreciate that you even noticed. I...I mean, I really didn’t want anyone to think something was wrong, so I tried not to make it obvious or anything, but...”

“You didn’t,” Beca says quickly. “Doubt anyone else noticed.”

“Oh. Then...? How did you...?”

“I dunno, I used to hold shit like that in. I know the signs.” 

Nodding slowly, Emily pulls her knees to her chest and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I like. Ruined the Valentine’s Day vibe with this.” 

Beca scoffs. “It’s fine, Legacy. Not like I’m a religious follower of it.” There’s no way to take the cheesiness out of what she wants to say next, but there’s an intense need for them to be said out loud. “Besides, your well-being and happiness comes first. None of us are gonna have a good time if you’re miserable inside, so like. You know. Any one of us’ll be willing to listen.” She nods towards the guitar. “And that thing isn’t going to tune itself, so.”

Emily laughs then, soft but genuine. She finally manages to meet Beca’s eyes. “Thanks.” 

A distant crash and a scream floats up from the kitchen, followed by a suspicious silence. Beca lets out a long breath through her nose. 

“Guess the circus is still in town.”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “Would it be okay if I... _we_...stay here for a little bit?” 

“Absolutely. As long as...” She plops herself down on the bed and passes the guitar back to Emily. “You keep playing. I wanna hear more.”

“Oh. Well, then, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day,” Emily announces playfully, “here are  _all_  the love songs I know how to play.”

“Oh my  _god,_  never  _mind_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh and I also didn't revise this so I'm sure there are about 500 typos and such LOL idk sorry
> 
> title song: Lights Down Low - MAX
> 
> currently dying bc of bemily week 2k19 BUT feel free to send in prompts: http://moxiemorton.tumblr.com/


End file.
